One Decision Too Many
by Light-Devil
Summary: Harry Potter, during his life, made many choices. What if he changed the small ones? Would they accumulate? Choices are everything. Choices are anything. Choices are nothing. Which choice is Harry's? Eventual HPDM Slash. Book One: 12 Official Chapters
1. Diagon Alley

**Title: **One Decision Too Many

**Disclaimer**: All recognizable characters, settings, objects, and spells in this story belong to J. K. Rowling. I am making no money off this story, and am doing it solely for fun.

**Summary: **There's something to be said about choices. Each choice we make determines our future. Harry Potter, during his life, made many choices. What if he changed the small ones? Would they accumulate? Would it be possible that not everything would turn up the same if Harry had done a little thing just a tad bit different? Choices are everything. Choices are anything. Choices are nothing. Which choice is Harry's? I've created four different situations where choices which Harry make changes. Only four. I will actually try to keep it to that limit for each book. This, by the way, is the first book. I intend to do all the books.

**Genre: **Adventure/Romance

**Warnings: **There may be some things you think are questionable. I advise you now if you are uncomfortable with either yaoi or yuri, then do not read. **Character Deaths. **You may hate me afterwards. Eventual HPDM slash. (It takes forever to happen, so it won't suddenly be sprung on you. :P)

**Notes: **I am so inspired by the Sacrifice Arc. If, at all, this starts to sound anything like it, tell me straight up. I do not want to steal any ideas _ever. _Also, if you guys want to know the choices that I've given Harry feel free to ask in a review.

(Everything before this point is the same; I didn't see the point in writing it.)

**CHAPTER ONE: DIAGON ALLEY**

Harry Potter, standing in Madam Malkin's Robes, looked exactly as wise as his eleven muggle years as he blinked blankly at the boy standing next to him, "Hello."

The pale boy gazed lazily back, watching as Harry winced when one of the fitting pins slipped through his robe and stabbed him in the side. He raised an inquisitive and sharp eyebrow, "Hogwarts too?"

Harry swallowed as he realised this could very well be his first friend at a new school, "Yes."

The platinum blonde boy raised his arms as the robes twisted, by themselves, neatly over his forearms. As he gazed into the mirror he smirked. Harry wasn't entirely sure what he found so amusing, but he attempted a smile as well.

As their gazes locked in their reflections, the boy scowled, "What house do you think you'll be put into?"

"I don't know entirely which house would suit me," Harry muttered as thoughtfully as he could, not wanting to appear naïve. He wasn't even sure how many houses there actually were.

"True enough. I hope I get put into Slytherin. Cunning and the best at Quidditch, they are. Do you have a broom to play Quidditch?"

When Harry didn't reply for lack of any sensible response, the boy cast him a sharp glance which made Harry aware of the colour of his eyes. _Blue grey… like shark skin_, Harry thought.

"Well, do you?" he wasn't as annoyed as before when he realised that Harry was only staring mindlessly at him.

"Getting a broom crossed my mind, but I don't play Quidditch," Harry replied after thinking for only an instant. After all, it was true. He _had _thought about buying one, purely because the sheet of Hogwarts requirements had restricted him from doing so. To think of a negative one needed to think of a positive first.

Abruptly, a wrap of material flung out from a compartment of a nearby shelf, which would've caught Harry in the head if he hadn't ducked in the nick of time. After correcting his glasses, which had slid dangerously to the edge of his nose, he looked back to the blonde who appeared to be watching him closely in the mirror.

"Pity, you have a… certain look about you. Slytherin could use you in the years to come," the pale boy drawled.

Harry was vaguely reminded of his cousin Dudley, but immediately shook the image off. It wouldn't be good to judge on first impressions. If Harry had learnt anything from Hagrid in the past day it was exactly that. It was entirely true that if Harry had listened to his first instincts he would've run from the half-giant with his tail between his legs, so to speak.

"I'm Harry, you are?" He put a hand forward to clasp the boy's, ready for a hand shake.

The blonde eyed it cautiously, before only delicately grabbing one of Harry's fingers and shaking it slightly, "A pureblood. Are you?"

Harry frowned momentarily as he watched the pureblood boy wipe his fingers inside his shirt, but instantly brushed it off, "I might or might not."

"How isthat? You either are or you aren't," he enunciated, the words rolling off his tongue in a stately fashion – like it was a fact everyone knew or should know otherwise they should think themselves rather ignorant.

The newly informed young wizard paused to think. Pureblood… what could that refer to? He bit his bottom lip in thought; a curious habit that he had picked up after talking with the snake before. He had first bitten it to stop his lip from tingling with all the hissing he was doing. Now, it was just second-nature.

Nature… Of course! To be pureblood must mean if you come from two parents, both of magical nature and family orientation. Harry resisted the urge to smile, "I'm half. Your name is?"

It was obvious that Harry's answer wasn't what the arrogant boy was expecting, but nonetheless he deigned to reply, since he seemed to be quite impressed by something, "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. You know, I couldn't really even tell you were making it up half the time."

Harry's mouth popped open in surprise, and he found himself at a loss of words once again. It was a moment of silence that allowed Harry to think. Should he try to befriend Draco? There wasn't anything particularly bad about him… Draco appeared to almost be nodding off from the lack of conversation and in an attempt to make something of the situation Harry blurted out, "Can we be friends?"

Draco smirked, "Remember my name. I want to share a train cabin with you," he reached a hand to the collar of Harry's robe to fix it up and stared at him coolly, "I'll see you in Slytherin."

With a prim and proper nod Draco's robe elegantly untwined from his body, stitched up and landed in the hands of a man Harry could only guess would be Mr. Malfoy – of course, assuming the platinum hair was a family trait and so was that glare from which Harry could guess nothing.

At that moment in time another pin swiftly caught him in the shoulder, causing him to wince in pain which in turn caused Harry's glasses to go askew and make him hiss out the word, "Ow!"

By the time Harry rubbed away the hurt, re-positioned his glasses and looked over, the two of them were gone and in their place was Hagrid. He was smiling widely and was trying to get through the glass door, but was having trouble fitting through with a glass container the size of a medium TV in his hands. Harry stifled a smile and the garments fell soundly off him, leaving him feeling rather naked even with his usual clothes on. They floated, like leaves caught in the wind, over to the counter and Hagrid, who had somehow managed to get inside, dug his hand into one of his many pockets to pull out some sort of wizard money.

Harry walked soundlessly to Hagrid, mulling over his previous conversation wondering if Draco was his friend or not. He did seem to be interesting and have a very strong attitude. As Hagrid paid for the robes Harry glanced up at the hairy giant and stated in the same tone Draco had used, "I'm a half-blood."

"That's right, 'Arry. Though yer muther was a witch and yer father was a wizard, yer mum came from a muggle family. That does make you a half-blood. Who told you that?" Hagrid asked, concealing the glass cage behind his back, in an attempt to hide it from Harry, who could plainly see it.

Harry paid it no mind and thought before answering, "Someone from Slytherin."

"There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-know-who was one. Best make your friend's carefully, you hear 'Arry?"

Harry cast his mind back to the expressions on the Malfoys' faces and decided that it was possible they could be Dark wizards. However, he told himself not to judge from titles. For according to Hagrid and the rest of the wizarding he was the Boy-who-lived and yet he could not remember any of it nor could he claim he had any sort of special skill which made him so wonderful.

"Sure, Hagrid." He lied and nodded and smiled and felt just a little bit guilty, but ignored it.

"What are you hiding behind your back?" Harry asked to change the subject.

The half-giant eyes widened in surprise and tried to play coy, "Oh, this? This is nothing…"

"Then you won't mind if I take a look!" Harry squealed and darted behind him.

The young wizard's mouth fell open as he saw what was in Hagrid's hands. It was a glass cage with an owl in it. A white owl, but as Harry watched it turned seamlessly into a white starfish. Harry was once again at a loss for words. Unsure he was seeing correctly, he momentarily removed his glasses and squinted at it. Its limbs stretched, thinning, and moulded into a single white line. As it coiled into a pile it hissed at him pleasantly. Harry stuttered pointing at the now-snake, "Wh-what is it?"

"Yer birthday present! It was either the owl or this. They're sold out of everything else. Do yeh want an owl instead? They can deliver letters and they're very loyal."

Harry immediately shook his head vigorously, nearly shaking his glasses off.

"No way in a million years! Now, what I meant was _what _is it?" Harry asked, his eyes growing wider as the creature transformed into a white rabbit.

"It's a baby; a _Hunt Figura_. When it's an adult it'll be a _Forma Statuam_. But their adult transition varies on the owner. When it's a baby like this it can change shapes, but it can't be too small or too big yet. Once it knows its master, what'll be you 'Arry, it will pick a shape to match your personality more. As you grow up into who you are it changes until you find the person you want to be forever," Hagrid seemed to be pleased with his own explanation and proffered the glass cage to Harry.

"Here, take it and give it a name."

"Thank you _so _much, Hagrid. I've… never gotten a real birthday present before." Harry's eyes shone bright with adoration.

Hagrid huffed, clearly embarrassed, "Think nothing of it… You deserve it; after all you've been through."

Harry was silent for a moment, thinking about "what he had been through" meant.

Stuck under a stair in a closet, with nothing to play with except forgotten miscellaneous lost in the sands of time. One of these particular things, a book, his uncle and aunty had left in his room, popped into his head. It was old and musty and from what Harry could recall was falling apart when he touched it. However, that was what drew Harry to it in the first place.

He couldn't read the title because it was too worn and Harry wasn't entirely sure it was written in English anyway, so he didn't really bother trying. He had flicked open the book and a page had flapped out, falling to the floor. The young wizard, fearful that his foster family would grow angry, quickly picked it up, but when he tried to put the page back in he couldn't find the correct place where it had belong.

Instead, he lifted it close to his glasses and gazed at it curiously. On the entire page, which looked completely ancient, brown and tattered, there was only one word he could read correctly and accurately. The word whispered from his mouth, escaping without a thought, "_Cautela_."

"Whaddya say, 'Arry?" Hagrid asked scratching at his wild beard.

Harry blinked as the _Hunt Figura _turned back into a white owl, "I want to name him Cautela."

Hagrid shrugged, "As good a name as aneh. Come on. We need to get yeh a wand."

"A wand?" Harry asked, with a muffled giggle.

Surely Hagrid was just pulling his leg. Wizards didn't really _need _wands, did they? Instead, Hagrid nodded solemnly and pointed to a shop down the road. The sign promptly read, "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C" under which sat a single stick, Harry assumed it was a wand, on a purple cushion. Harry swallowed loudly. The shop gave him the creeps.

"Do I _have_ to get a wand?"

"You're not a real wizard without a wand 'Arry," Hagrid smiled encouragingly; "I'm going to get yer books and other stuffs. Go on. Ollivander doesn't bite… hard."

Harry figured that Hagrid had to know what he was talking about and walked towards the store with a newfound purpose. What Hagrid hadn't realised was that Harry has taken Cautela from his cage and was wearing him on his collar in the form of a white moth. When Harry arrived inside he was mildly surprised to find no one there and as such walked further in gazing at everything. Moreover, he was _calmed _by the lack of anyone inside. Had anyone truly been there Harry would've surely been completely freaked ou-

"By Merlin's beard, it's Harry Potter," a soft voice whispered behind Harry causing him to spin around in shock and the hairs on his neck to stand up. With his heart beating a mile a minute and his breath in sharp intakes Harry's eyes locked onto an old man sitting amongst the shadows, leaning forward ever so slightly. His dark stormy eyes met Harry's and Harry felt goosebumps form on his appendages.

"I'm sorry, son, didn't mean to scare you. You'll be wanting a wand, now, won't you?" the man, who by now Harry had presumed was Ollivander, asked turning on his stool to the many cabinets and shelves positioned behind him. They seemed endless. _Perhaps_, Harry thought whimsically, _they are._

Ollivander's fingers skimmed over the boxes, like an experienced pianist playing a Mozart piece, and he almost seemed to float down the long aisles. _Like magic, _Harry commented ironically to himself. Abruptly, the old man paused and picked out a box. In a sudden change of mood he leapt from the shadows, flicked the box away and placed a wand firmly into Harry's hand, "This one. Try it."

Harry looked at his wand. It seemed like a perfectly normal stick. Except it felt smooth and extremely light. Something about it seemed… odd, but Harry couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

"What are you waiting for? Give it a wave!" Ollivander shouted, his voice oozing with excitement.

The young wizard took a deep breath and thought about a particular symbol he'd draw in the air for fun. For a second he stood and thought, but a symbol popped into his head. A picture he'd seen somewhere… A cartoon character! When he realised exactly how he wanted to draw out the symbol he opened his eyes, positioned his arm and bit his bottom lip as he concentrated. Harry started with a low curl of his wrist, a right flick and he was just about to tap the air when Ollivander snatched it straight from his hands, a panicked look on his face.

"What are you doing!" he whispered with suppressed rage in his eyes, the storm blowing into life.

Harry blinked, "I was just wavin-"

"What taught you that?" he asked violently.

Harry took a step backwards, "Sir, you're scaring me, I want to leav-"

Ollivander took a leap forward, gripped Harry on the shoulders, digging his fingers into Harry's muscles, and began to shake him, "Tell me where you learnt that movement."

Harry began to reply that he didn't know where he learnt it from, when the wand that Ollivander had snatched let sparks, angry looking and violent, shoot from the tip. Harry watched in pained silence as they lit up the room, casting an ominous glare on their surroundings. Ollivander grip loosened and he finally let Harry go as spectacle ended.

He glanced ever so slowly at the boy a curious expression on his face. Harry finally recognised it as fear. The old man lifted the wand and handed it to Harry, his hands was shaking fiercely, "Take it. Take it away. I should've known. Should've guessed. Too good to be true…"

Harry swallowed his fear away and stepped out the door, never taking his eyes off the old man – who had begun to slink back into the shadows, muttering to himself. Harry, after what seemed like an eternity, finally found himself stepping out of the store and onto the path.

The doors closed shut right in front of his face, and Harry was glad to be done with it, even though his nose had nearly been taken off. A hand, large and powerful, fell onto his shoulder, causing Harry to yelp out in surprise. He was greatly relieved to find that it was only Hagrid's hand.

Harry let out a sigh of relief, "Thank god, its you Hagrid. Ollivander is crazy."

Hagrid frowned in confusion but shrugged it off. Cautela turned into a walrus the size of Harry's head and clapped his hands enthusiastically. The young wizard laughed in delight and gazed at his surrounding, realising that – finally he had somewhere to officially belong. A soft fuzzy feeling entered his heart and he found himself almost crying in joy.


	2. Journey From The Platform

_(If anyone hasn't guessed yet, I'm taking the original chapter titles. Yes, that's right. You'll be able to guess what happens in the chapters, but you'll never entirely know. Also, I dabble between book and movie. Things may go with the movie and others may fit in with the book.)_

**CHAPTER TWO: THE JOURNEY FROM PLATFORM NINE AND THREE-QUARTERS**

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry didn't start for a month. It was an uncomfortably long month with Harry's remaining living family, to say the least. Instead of shunning his existence, like they had for almost all his life, they now looked at him with accusatory glances. As if it was his fault for possessing magic, being born and just generally being related to them in any way.

Harry harboured a small, almost nonexistent thought in the very bottom of his mind that perhaps their hate for him stemmed from life long jealousy of something they all would never be able to have. However, he knew this to be almost entirely untrue. It seemed that his guardians' just plainly hated magic and all its related happenstances. Even Dudley seemed more vehement than ever, but it was a sizzling silence; something that made the hair on the back of Harry's neck prickle up whenever Dudley even entered the room.

After a while their stares became irritating and repetitive (all except his cousin's who was beginning to give Harry a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach), so Harry eventually lapsed into a state of anti-socialism. He stuck to his dark, small room under the stairs studying Cautela. The _hunt figura _seemed to favour a form which was not quite like anything Harry had ever seen. After an extensive and critical analysis Harry, with the wisdom of an eleven year old muggle, deemed Cautela to be "awesome."

One of the many books that Hagrid had seemed fit to waste money on was a journal. Harry had discovered it while thumbing through his other "text" books. It had the Hogwarts school calendar, stating all the public holidays and vacation days. Harry eyed those days with a sort of distaste he usually only reserved for the bathroom mirror when he threw up his Aunt Petunia's Friday Tuna Casserole. After feeling so like he belonged somewhere, being accepted without even the littlest bat of the eyelash, the thought of eventually having to come back to… this was like a kick in the gut. He wondered if he could do anything to stay at Hogwarts even during the holidays…

Every night before sleeping Harry would pick his wand up and stare at it. It didn't even _look _magical. In fact, it was perhaps one of the least magical things he had ever seen – which of course included the incident of the vanishing glass as well as everything he had seen the day he visited Diagon alley. Cautela often liked to nibble on the top end of it, with its razor sharp teeth (belonging to a creature between a wolf and lion) and by the time the last day of August arrived the tip was effectively etched with remarkable scratches. Harry, always trying to look on the bright side of things, reckoned with himself and almost convinced himself that maybe others would believe he had fought a lion/wolf with just his wand and won.

With a shake of his head Harry sighed. He was an optimist yes, but also a realist. People would just think he had a shabby, second-rate wand. And in Hogwarts rested all his hope and happiness. He sighed again. It seemed to be one of the only noises which he could make lately. On the last day of August Harry finally confronted his uncle and spoke to him for the first time in almost a month.

He found them all in front of the TV, of course, eating dinner off TV trays, of course, and when he appeared they all glared at him with hate, of course. Their intent and anger filled gazes struck Harry anew, pushing him off balance and he stammered for a second, "Unc-Kin-Cros-Drop…"

"Come on, boy. Spit it out. I don't have all day," Uncle Vernon replied, a grain of overcooked rice fleeing his jaws and making a bee-line for the ground to hide among many other veteran survivors. Its escape seemed to refocus Harry on his own, "Uncle, I need to get to King's Cross station for the train to Hogwarts. Would you be willing to drop me off?"

"Not really, but I suppose we must be rid of you one way or another," He shovelled more food into his mouth and Harry wished luck to the troops which were almost assuredly going on a kamikaze mission. Vernon grunted and, with quite a large amount of effort, swallowed down the food with only the littlest possible number of chews.

Harry watched the bulge travel down his uncle's throat neutrally though inwardly he was making his Tuna-Casserole face and he waited for Vernon to breathe once again. The obese man seemed to want to say something more and Harry, always mindful of his manners after asking a favour, stood at attention.

Harry's uncle finally spoke, "Why are you going by train? Where in the blazes is your school?"

The poor boy shrugged – the address wasn't really given out to muggle family's, from what Harry had read in one of his text books. It was part of the Magical Realm Secrecy Act… or something along those lines. Besides, even if Harry had known the location he wasn't about to share his only hope to be accepted with others, _especially _the Dudleys. He knew it was a selfish thought and he instantly consoled himself for it, but it was true nonetheless.

His silence seemed to aggravate Vernon further and he shoved another mouthful of food into his gullet. With the conversation seemingly dismissed Harry retreated to the only safe place in the house – his room. He found Cautela sitting his glass cage next to his suitcases – which were already packed.

For a second the young amateur wizard stared in bedazzlement at his pet. When he had left, his room was all a clutter and it would've taken him hours to get everything he needed and another few more on top of that to fit it all into the single suitcase Hagrid had bought him, though with his limited clothes it wouldn't be so bad. With a smile he opened the class cage, patted the _hunt figura_'s soft and oddly shaped head and then fell onto his bed on the ground.

His love for magic and all that was wonderful had been gloriously renewed. Harry felt a need greater than anything he had ever felt before. He needed to be where magic was; where it could be free…

Where Harry could be free.

_People flooded into the room. Many hid their identities, cautious at being called out for this emergency rendezvous. It was five days early and so hastily organised that it wasn't possible for everyone to even think about attending. After a while the room, octagonal in shape, was filled and the flood had weakened to a trickle. Soon no more entered the room which was lit only by the eight candles in each corner of the room – amplified by magic._

_If the room had been checked for spells they wouldn't be surprised to find a blanket _silencio _cast around the entire room so that only those inside the bubble could hear each other. One _would_ be surprised to find a dark spell used to identify those sympathetic to it, _illustro malum, _literally translatable to _illuminate evil.

_There was a torrent of muttering, none talking each other lest their true selves be shown, but amongst their own little cohorts who they had arrived with. In the room only two people openly emanated the sickly light of _illustro malum _and they too did not hide their identities._

_Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood together, not touching, but with the feeling that they indeed belonged together. Lucius platinum hair flowed in long locks neatly slicked back and looked to almost revel in the light that the spell made him shine with – his grey eyes casting the impression that even though he enjoyed the attention it gave him he was still very bored with the proceedings. Narcissa, with a brown side-fringe resting on her brow, blonde hair swept up into a bun - held with a smooth bone - and the bluest eyes imaginable, stood next to her husband, proud and with her back straight. Many said the Malfoy's only heir would like just like Lucius in the years to come. Few would disagree out open, but Narcissa made it common knowledge that though her son took mostly after her husband in physical appearance he had inherited her soul._

_Slowly, the muttering came to a stop as a wizard – also hiding his appearance – crept up to the pedestal in the centre of the octagon. He cleared his throat and silence took the room – so utterly complete and abrupt some would wonder if the others had cast _silencio _even with the risks that came with it._

_The Malfoy's watched as the man looked around, his spot in the centre turning slowly so he could catch everyone's gaze. A feeling slowly rose up through the room, starting with a single person, but soon escalating to each individual. It was a feeling of anticipation, of excitement… and of dread. The emotions all churned together creating an atmosphere which made it hard to remember where one person began and another ended. Magic rippled around the prominent witches and wizards, invisible, but adding a different taste, tone, to the complexity that was the air they breathed._

_The man caught the Malfoy's eyes last and kept it, clearly unsurprised by the light they glowed with. He took a breath and began, "I have convened this court to inform you all of something the wizarding community must know. We must rid ourselves of the illusion of hope. Our last defence – our only possible saviour is… He's evil I tell you. You could see it in his eyes. Evil to the bone. In all my years I have never felt such a strong likeness to the Dark Ways."_

_Lucius found himself holding his breath in anticipation. Usually so calm and stoic he had been swept up with the others. Narcissa laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and with a brief self-disgusted narrowing of his eyes he checked himself. Lucius couldn't believe it. He tried to fight the smirk forming at the edges of his lips._

"_He has to be stopped. Stopped. I warn you. I warn you all who have attended this council tonight – if he is allowed to grow into adulthood Harry Potter will be the next Dark Lord."_

_Lucius couldn't fight it any longer and let the smirk creep over his face. He turned to face Narcissa. She also appeared to be having difficulty in hiding a thought. Then he proffered an open hand to his wife which she took. Mr. Malfoy nodded briefly at the figure at the centre and _disapparated _out as the room broke into utter chaos and loud shouts disbelief._

Disbelief – it was the only thing evident on Harry's face as he watched a ginger family (who had mentioned something about "muggles") disappear into the dividing barrier between platform nine and platform ten. The young wizard's mouth fell open. He turned his head violently in each direction to check if anyone else had witnessed the impossibility which had just happened. Adjusting his now askew glasses he approached the brick divider carefully.

He closely examined it, with and without his glasses – just in case it caused some difference. There appeared to be nothing odd about this particular wall. Harry let out a disappointed sigh. He was on the verge of giving up – he felt almost completely defeated. He had been searching, tirelessly, for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and had yet to rewarded any fruits of his labour. Harry bit his bottom lip in thought, sighed, stretched an arm out to lean against the divider and propped his other hand on his hip. He moaned as he began shifting his body so when his hand hit the wall it would carry his weight so he could rest - finally, "I'm never going to get to Hogwarts."

As his hand touched the wall where it should've connected with the divider he was quite overwhelmed when he almost slipped straight through. Taken by surprise he lost his vertical standing and wobbled between the safety of being upright (and being somewhere he knew) and smashing his face on the ground in some place he wasn't entirely sure of. For a second he hesitated in his balancing act, pausing to think, _Maybe it wouldn't be so bad… maybe Hogwarts is through here…_

It was exactly that break from struggling that gravity needed to win. Harry tipped, unfortunately losing his fight, through the divider and his face landed in a place of unknown. A crack sounded when he hit the floor and he wondered if he had broken one of his bones. As he fell he kicked his own trolley forward which sent it flying through the wall.

Harry moaned and, as quickly as was possible, glanced around. It was just another platform. He tried not to be disappointed. However, the expression formed on his dejected, now scratched, face. He touched the scratches gingerly and hissed when his finger hit an especially sensitive one. Eventually he found himself touching the lightning bolt scar just right of the centre of his forehead. Usually, his dark brown fringe covered it, but the fall had messed his hair up severely.

As Harry ran a finger gently over the surface of it someone shouted, presumably the train's driver, "All aboard the Hogwarts Express. Due to leave in ten minutes. All aboard. Check in your luggage. Due to leave in ten minutes. All aboard!"

Excitement threatened to explode from Harry's being and instead a heady giggle bubbled out, a trickle of pure happiness escaping and lowering the pressure of joy in his body. He literally bounded over to the luggage check in and all but punched the poor luggage loader in the face while whipping his ticket out, quickly followed by a string of apologies from the usual body conscious boy. Harry was ecstatic. He was finally going to Hogwarts.

Vaguely, Harry was aware of people talking about him, giving him strange glances, but he didn't really mind. They were most probably talking about their own children and how they weren't looking even half as happy as Harry did – or at least that's what Harry told himself. He wouldn't let people muttering suspiciously ruin his mood.

When he finally boarded the train (his entire luggage checked in) he found the majority of the carriages already full. He didn't want to impose on anyone and so kept on walking down the train until he arrived at a compartment which was spectacularly empty. Sliding the frosted glass door open, entering and closing it behind him, Harry fell on to the soft leather-like double seated chair and let out a pure sound of contentment. He was almost there! Almost… free.

_Almost_, Harry thought casting his mind back over the silent drive to the station that his Uncle has taken him on. It made him feel bleaker knowing he had to go home to that scowl at the end of every year and during each holidays. _On the bright side, _he smiled, lightening up considerably. _Maybe I'll be able to learn some spells to make him smile more._

He closed his eyes, imagining all the things he would learn at Hogwarts. Abruptly, something knocked loudly and somewhat impatiently at the door. A silhouette made by the magic amplified lamps outside showed the person to have short hair and to be about Harry's height. The young wizard frowned. He had thought everyone to be already in their own compartment seeing as his luggage had been the last to be loaded on before the luggage compartment was closed.

The person knocked again, this time faster as if Harry were wasting their time. Harry shrugged to himself and got up to open the door as the floor lurched beneath his feet, causing him to stumble forward. The floor continued to move, as the train began its journey, and Harry continued to fumble over himself. In an attempt to poise himself, which he was notoriously challenged by, his hand had instinctively clutched at the handle of the sliding door. When trying to place his weight on the only stable thing in his grip to keep himself from smashing his already wounded face, the _sliding _door slipped right open and Harry ran straight into the person standing outside the sliding frosted-glass door.

They fell into a heap of legs and arms on the floor of the carriage. Harry's glasses went flying. The two of them sat there for a second in stunned silence. As soon as Harry gained his bearings and realised his situation he began muttering a string of apologies which sounded something along the lines of, "Ahh, I... god, I didn't mean, I'm, I so, I…"

What made matters considerably worse was the fact that Harry couldn't even make out who he was conversing with. The brunette began to untwine himself from their rather intimate situation and his accidental companion followed suit. By the time they were untangled, both were sufficiently embarrassed and frustrated.

Harry frowned at the blurry shape which was the person he had run into, "Could you please look for my glasses? I'm rather blind without them…"

Silence and the sound of feet pattering on the floor was answer enough. Harry stood there in silence, his cheeks still sublimely pink, staring intently at the moving silhouette. It fact it was almost like liking through frosted glass. The figure approached him and Harry attempted a half-hearted smiled.

The young wizard imagined the person smiled back, but he wasn't entirely sure. He held out a hand and the person laid his glasses down softly into Harry's palm. Harry felt almost immediately better and he managed to smile more realistically, "Thank you!"

As Harry placed the glasses back onto his face he was looked straight into the eyes the colour of shark-skin. Harry's eyes widened in delightful surprise as the memories of the day in Madam Malkin's Robes flooded his mind, "Malfoy!"

Draco, in all his narcissistic glory, smirked, "I knew you wouldn't forget my name. Now, I've just found out you're Harry Potter. Is this true?"

Harry smiled as he lifted his mussed fringe to show the scar, "Yeah. Why? What's it to you?"

For a second Draco was silent as if contemplating something deep and meaningful – or at least that was what Harry was imagining him doing, for it was often hard to know what any of the Malfoy's was ever thinking. Harry watched the blonde boy for a moment and then he gestured with his arm to the cabin.

Draco walked in slowly, eyeing the chairs in apparent distaste. Harry followed him in and closed the door. As he turned back around he ran into Draco's back, who, for some reason or another, had stopped directly in the middle of the compartment. A sound escaped Draco's mouth and Harry frowned in confusion.

"Pardon?"

"Yes."

The silence concerned Draco and he turned to check the expression on Harry's face – expecting confusion. Harry's smile nearly knocked Draco over. He was too bright. Draco didn't know _anyone _who smiled like that. As he found support in the form of the chair, he blinked for a second and then raised an eyebrow at The Boy Who Lived just to be sure, "Do you know what I'm affirming?"

"Since you never answered my question, if I'm not mistaken you've just agreed to be my friend?" Harry let the end tail off with a questioning tone as he sat on the opposing chair.

"Indeed."

There was silence in the compartment as Harry waited for Draco to talk and Draco waited for Harry to. The quietness echoed in the room, bounding between them. Draco was beginning to get frustrated, both with himself and with the other wizard.

Harry Potter wasn't supposed to act like a muggle. He was supposed to be powerful and magical. And even though Draco had assessed him to both act like a muggle and not even show much signs of being particularly magical _or _powerful he had still agreed to the friendship. His own actions had stumped himself. Sure, his father had insisted Draco befriend him, but Lucius's desires didn't usually matter to Draco.

It wasn't like Draco _needed _Harry's friendship; he could survive without it and stick with Crabbe and Goyle. They shared his views and goals. They knew who he was and who he would be. Maybe that was the point… Harry Potter didn't _know _who Draco Malfoy was. As Draco contemplated his own reasoning through self-questions Harry sat wondering about Draco.

It had taken him a month to find out if Harry had been worthy to be his friend. Perhaps, he had only truly agreed because he had found out that Harry was The Boy Who Lived. Surely, that was clue of what he was like as a person? Harry wondered if the person sitting in front of him was vain or if he had a superiority complex. He eyed the pale boy sceptically. Something about the boy seemed… strange, but Harry couldn't put a finger on it.

Eventually both came to the same thought, _Should I continue with this friendship even if the foundations are based on untold truths?_

And as their eyes came in contact and Harry smiled, thinking how he had thought of Draco's eye colour as shark-skin, they both came to the same conclusion.

_Yes._

They both opened their mouths to speak at the same time, Harry to share his views of Draco's eyes and Draco to talk about something else entirely. When they noticed each other starting to speak, they both paused to let the other begin first. When neither of them spoke, they both began to start again, but stopped as soon as they noticed each other opening their mouths again. A large smile spread over Harry's face and Draco scowled.

Though the brunette found it entertaining Draco thought it less than amusing.

Finally, Harry spoke, "You go first."

"But _you _just did." Draco sniffed, pointing out an obvious flaw.

Harry rolled his eyes and then slumped back into his chair. For a second, Harry wondered if he should let Draco speak, but he dismissed it. He thought about the question he had asked himself about the untold truths. Well, if this was the start of a _real _friendship he might as well get his views right out into the open.

"I think you're vain and pompous."

Draco eyes narrowed slightly, the only sign he was affected by the comment, and he folded his arms in front of his chest, "Well, I think you're dull and easily impressed."

Harry's mouth fell open, clearly insulted, as he leaned forward, "Dull? I'm not dull!"

"You are. Just _look _at what you're wearing. It's dull. Plus you're not very interesting – even though you're the Boy Who Lived."

Harry looked down at the clothes he was wearing which had been dirtied by his previous falls. He frowned and replied, "Well, sor_ry _I don't live up to your expectations," he bit his bottom lip and then scowled at Draco, "You're a git."

Draco snorted out a strangled laughter at the ridiculous insult. Both Harry and himself were surprised by his reaction. He quickly recovered himself and asked, "You agree that you're easily impressed then?"

Harry wasn't about to let the snort past and retorted, "What was _that?_"

Draco hoped fervently that he wasn't as red as he felt, "I'm allowed to laugh."

"_That _was laugh?"

Draco could feel himself growing defensively angry. This mocking was exactly one of the reasons he didn't ever let his guards down enough to make friends that were like Harry Potter. They were too light and fluffy. He couldn't handle that – everything he knew had to be solid. He couldn't deal with fake mockery or playful mockery because it _always _felt real to him. And the Harry Potter type of people always dealt the worse types of blows. Draco took a deep breath, "We're dropping this now."

Harry was taken aback by the anger dripping from Draco's voice and blinked, "Sure. I was only playing, you know," he felt like he had to explain himself, "You _can _take a joke, right?"

Silence was Draco's only reply. Draco felt it was apt enough. Harry let out a sigh, "You _are _pompous and vain, you know."

It wasn't a question.

"I take pleasure in being that way," Draco drawled back, glad to be back on the offensive.

"Why?"

The directness of Harry's question startled Draco. _Why indeed?_ Draco asked himself, thinking about it. _Because that's who I need to be and I like being what I should be, because everything works that way and I end up fine._ Of course, Draco didn't say it out loud. _Untold truths, _Draco muttered sardonically in his head. _What wonderful foundations._

Instead, the blonde smirked, thinking he was about to ask a winning question and replied, "Do you enjoy being yourself?"

"No."

Harry's reply was immediate and without a pause. It made Draco think. In fact, _everything _Harry said made Draco think. Harry was obviously not good for the mind. The blonde pre-teen suppressed a sigh and titled his head in a questioning angle at Harry, "Do you know which house you want to be in?"

Harry, who had read the books about the houses, smiled, "Well, that seems like a rather pointless question. You're my only friend. What am I meant to do in a house full of strangers?"

Draco stared blankly at Harry, "Say that again."

"Do I need to make it any clearer?"

"Say it again."

It was clear Draco was used to giving orders. He had the sort of manner that Harry imagined made other people do what he said even if they weren't entirely sure who he was. It was… an atmosphere about him. If Harry didn't be careful and watch what he was doing, he might end of following what Draco said without questioning it.

"I've already said it. Mull it over for a while." Harry retorted with a sniff of his nose – imitating Draco perfectly. Draco didn't seem to notice it – he was still caught up in the whirlwind of implications that Harry's statement had created.

The pale boy looked to grow paler, "You mean to say you want to be in Slytherin just because I'm going to be in Slytherin?"

Harry grinned. Draco let out an outburst of disbelief, "That's absurd! Why would you do that for!"

"Right now you're my only friend in Hogwarts and you seem to know a lot about magic. Also, you seem… never mind. I figured it was a win-win situation."

"You've got to be joking me. Honestly?" Draco was at a loss at what to do except repeat his utter scepticism of the situation.

"No. I'm lying. I secretly harbour a desire to see you dying in a ditch somewhere." Draco didn't even hear Harry. He was still muttering to himself about what a foolish thing it was to do.

Harry spoke, calmly, straight, without a mischievous tone, without even meaning to sound so serious, "I just want to have a place, Draco. I don't know if you'd understand it, but I've been suppressed. Suppressed by being told what I should do, without being told the truth and told what I should believe without giving me an option and I want to have a place where I can be free. Hogwarts is that place for me. You are going to be in that place with me. And I want to be free with my friends."

Draco was quiet as Harry spoke and he found himself deeply affected by Harry's speech. It was like… a mirror reflection, except that Harry was saying the things Draco never even allowed himself to think. Harry has just said everything that Draco wanted, but didn't know he had wanted. That he wouldn't allow himself to know he wanted.

As the words Harry had said echoed in the depths of Draco's being, he mentally squashed them. He killed them. The thoughts of being free and being with friends in a place where instilled beliefs and lessons were forgotten – they were gone. But not before a seed fell into the garden bed of his mind. It had been planted. It would depend on the mind's environment if the idea would blossom in an ideal.

"That's a madman's ideal. Hogwarts is nothing but something they use to keep child wizards and witches in check. I may seem pompous and vain, but I won't lie. Hogwarts, the Hogwarts you think exists, isn't real," Draco's reply was cold and harsh, but rang with an unarguable clarity.

Harry heard the truth in Draco's voice. It was like a sharp continuous stabbing pain in his heart. Draco evidently saw the hurt in Harry's eyes. Saw the dream falling apart in the depths of Harry's mind. Felt the hope and happiness begin to fade from Harry's face. Draco caught a glimpse of something beneath all the smiles and joy and mischief. He saw Harry's soul. And it was in pain.

Suddenly, Draco – who had never felt bad about anything he had ever done in his life, for everything he did was justified and right and what he should do – felt guilt.

"But you can keep looking for that place, Potter. You can keep searching," Draco felt disgustingly pleased with the warmth in his voice. It was wrong. It wasn't what he should be doing.

Harry's eyes locked with Draco's and the blonde was ecstatic to see the hope blooming in his eyes again. Harry began to smile again and his dream became alive once more, albeit differently. For a second Draco could _feel _the freedom that Harry wanted, the friends that Harry thought he could have, and the new life that awaited him somewhere. Harry would still find his place and it might be anywhere.

The smile grew on Harry's face, not quite as happy as he had once been, but not entirely depressed, it was like Harry had chosen a medium level of joy, "I hope you'll still be in the place I find. I'll need friends to share it with."

Draco couldn't help but smile back, because even though Harry's smile wasn't bright or as incredibly happy as it was the first time Harry has recognised him in the train it was _warm_. Like some had wrapped a blanket around him.

And inside the garden bed of Draco's mind the seed felt the warmth from Harry and ached to reach out to grow.

Abruptly, the frosted-glass sliding door opened and a boy with orange hair meekly looked inside, "Uhh, can I sit in here?"

Draco looked at Harry and his warm smile and felt suddenly very selfish. That smile was a smile that only _friends _should share. This stranger was obviously not a friend of either Draco or Harry. The brunette haired boy began to answer his complete affirmation that the red-head would be allowed in when Draco drawled out in the most pompous tone imaginable, "Red-hair? Hand-me-down clothes? And a stupid complexion? You must be a Weasley."

The red-head's face drew into something that could only be described as pure angry, "Blonde hair? Gayishly neat clothes? And an ego the size of the world? You _must _be a Malfoy," he changed his angry gaze to Harry, "Who are you?"

Harry made to answer, but boy got in first, "It doesn't matter who you are. You'll soon find out some wizarding families are… different than others. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

The Weasley held out his hand for Harry to shake. Harry stared at it for a moment, but didn't take it, "Do you want to sit with us? I'm Harry Potter, by the way."

"I'm Ron," he said, snatching his hand away as if he had touched a hot stove, his voice was still full of rage as he warned Harry, "I'd be careful if I were you, Harry. You hang around snobs like the Malfoy's and such and it'll rub off on you."

Before Draco could retort anything back, Ron slammed the door shut and stomped angrily away from the compartment. The blonde cast a questioning stare at Harry who appeared to be suppressing a large bout of laughter. Draco felt his face go hot and Harry watched as Draco grinded his teeth.

"Do you want my honest opinion about what just happened?" Harry asked, finally able to kill his giggling.

"No."

"In that case, what that boy just said was _completely _uncalled for."

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry, "So, you're saying I deserved it then."

"Utterly."

There was a silence.

"I'm not what he said, you know."

"What?" Harry asked, his eyes boggling behind his glasses, taken by surprise by the random comment.

"I'm just a tidy person."

"Of course," Harry agreed, unsure of the direction of the conversation.

They were saved the awkwardness of the next few moments when the door slid open again. This time it was a girl with bushy brown hair who was wearing clean, new robes. She looked at them and asked in a rather bossy tone, even more bossier than Draco's, "Has anyone see a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one."

Harry shook his head and smiled at her, "Where did he lose it?"

She let out a frustrated sigh, "Somewhere on the train, he said. Like that helps us at all."

She then checked herself and looked up, "Oh, I apologise. Where _are _my manners? I'm Hermione Granger. Who are you?"

Hermione stretched out a hand to shake and Harry grabbed it, "I'm Harry Potter."

"I've read _all _about you in the text books! Gosh, you're famous, you know?" Hermione asked with a familiarity Harry didn't share with her.

Draco noticed and feeling a need to somehow make his friend more comfortable he commented with absolute derision, "Granger isn't a pureblood name. You're muggle born, aren't you?"

"Nobody in my family's magic at all," She gave him a sharp look, "And who are _you_?"

Draco smirked, "A Malfoy."

She recoiled slightly, "You're family has served under You-know-who."

"Scared?" Draco asked with a faint hint of humour in his voice.

"Not the slightest. Alarmed, mostly. Anyway, I best be on my way. Neville's hopeless at finding things. Oh, you should think about changing into your robes soon. We'll be arriving at Hogwarts. Good day to you both."

She stepped out of the room and was about to close the door, but paused and looked back in. Hermione looked at Harry with a sort of sniff and said, "You've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Draco glared at her as she walked out. Harry wiped mindlessly at his nose.

"Why do you take such a defensive position all the time, Malfoy?" Harry asked, concern in his voice.

"Why don't you take any position at all, Potter?" Draco retorted, angered by the fact that he was only being defensive because Harry wasn't.

Harry didn't answer, because Draco had a valid question and Harry hadn't a logical answer. There was silence again. Harry broke it with, "We should change into our robes, like Hermione said."

"The muggle born? Why should be do what she says?" asked Draco, contempt thick in his voice.

"It was advice. Besides, we'd have to do it sooner or later. So we'd be just delaying the inevitable," Harry commented lightly.

Draco narrowed his eyes and pulled out his carry on bag. He zipped it open and dragged out a black robe. Then slipping off his jacket he wriggled into the robe. Harry remarked dryly, "Perfect fit."

"Of course. You were in the store when they were made. As was my father. They wouldn't do anything cheap while a Ministry of Magic Official was in the store. Yours should be just as good," Draco had gained a sort of superior, but proud tone in his voice when he spoke about his father.

"Why aren't _you _changing, since you're the one who suggested it?" Draco asked when he put his jacked into the bag.

"I didn't have a carry-on bag. Forgot to buy one," Harry replied, almost sheepishly.

"Why didn't you say so? You can just borrow a robe from me," Draco exclaimed as if it were something Harry should've known.

"Really?" Harry asked, his green eyes sparkling, for this was probably only the second time someone had offered something freely to him.

"What are friends for?" Draco asked, almost mockingly, as he pulled out his extra robe, "Here. We're about the same size. It should fit you."

The young brunette smiled his gratitude and proceeded in putting it on. He spun around in it when it was on him correctly, "How do I look?"

"It fits fine. I think you're a little shorter than me," he pointed to the centimetre overlap on the ground.

Harry shrugged, "I'll wash it if it gets dirty. Anyway, thanks."

A voice sounded, the same voice as the one which had alerted Harry of the existence of the Hogwarts Express, "We will be reaching Hogwarts in approximately four minutes and fifty seconds. Please gather your carry on bags and be careful to not leave anything behind. Anything left behind will be destroyed."

The young wizard felt excitement once again, building up inside him and he glanced over to share his extreme joy with Draco. However, Draco looked more solemn and less happy than Harry imagined anyone should be. The train eventually slowed and stopped and Harry found that by looking at his watch the announcement was entirely correct – give or take a few milliseconds.

People began to rush from the cabins to step outside onto the platform and get a breath of fresh air. Though Draco and Harry hadn't noticed it, it had grown dark during the trip they had taken, even though they had barely noticed the time going by. The cool night air played on their exposed necks when they stepped from their own cabins. A small light played in the distance and slowly approached them.

All eyes were on it when a voice shouted, "Firs' years. Firs' years. Firs' years over here!" he approached them huddle masses of students and noticed Harry who was surrounded, "Alright there, 'Arry?"

Harry smiled and Hagrid began gathering all the first year students, "Now, everyone – follow me! And mind yer steps."

Carefully looking at their own feet and the feet of those around them, they followed behind Hagrid single file, for the path was narrow and slippery. People slipped every now and then, but were caught by the person behind them and murmured both apologies and thanks. It was too dark to make out and details, but Harry could've sworn that they were surrounded by trees in every direction except forward and backwards.

A collection of gasps made Harry stand on his tiptoes to see what they were looking at. Draco didn't look very impressed for he had been separated from Harry and was somewhere in the middle, while Harry had ended up near the front. Draco thought darkly for a second, _What a wonderful analogy for where we are in the scheme of good and bad. _

Harry whooped and yelled, "Malfoy, you have to hurry up! It's beautiful."

Harry's voice snapped his out of his thoughts and Draco treaded on the back of people's heels to make them walk faster. He eventually arrived to see what Harry had been talking about. In the night, from this angle, it looked like a giant abyss with depths unfathomable. However, it was what was on the other side of the lake that Harry had been talking about.

It was a huge castle with windows that looked archaic, but sparkled in the starry sky and patched brickwork which looked as though it was done by hands. It had countless turrets and towers which awed many of muggle born students and Harry.

The students were snatched from their views when Hagrid shouted, "No more than four to a boat," he pointed to a line of small dinghy like vessels sitting on the shores of the abyss.

Harry and Draco hopped into the same one and only Hermione dared to follow the two boys. The other students did the same and soon everyone was seated.

"Everyone in? Good! Now let's GO!" Hagrid screamed.

All at once the little boats shoved forward, gliding effortlessly over the surface of the lake. Harry watched, his eyes alight with absolute radiant joy. It was like floating in the sky. The sky was reflected in the black surface of the lake and Harry felt like he was flying.

All too soon Harry found that they were docking and getting out. He followed Hermione and Draco out of the boat. The rest of the cohort clambered, clumsily on the pebbles and sand. Hagrid did a head check and heard something croak.

He turned and Hermione remarked, "Neville, I think Hagrid's found your toad."

It was sitting on a large rock, so still it almost looked like a statue. Neville ran to the toad and gripped it firmly in his hands, almost looking like he was thanking god, "Trevor!"

Again, the first years followed Hagrid through the passageway, over the damp luscious grass that someone said wasn't really grass, but plastic ("Must be muggle born," commented Draco dryly, about that) and then over a never-ending staircase to a large, double-door.

Harry eyed it in expectation with a large goofy smile on his face. Draco didn't seem impressed at all. Of course, his father had explained everything that would happen and as such he wasn't allowed to be taken by surprise by things which were absolutely normal for everyone wizard and witch.

Everyone began to crowd together to get close to the door. They were all glancing around. The stood in the shadow if the castle and closer up it seemed ridiculously large. Harry only felt extreme respect for it and Draco thought it a waste of space.

"Everyone here, now?" Hagrid asked, giving Harry a grin and he turned to Neville, "Got your toad boy?"

Neville nodded his affirmation and smiled nervously.

Harry found himself holding his breath in anticipation and holding tightly onto the sleeve of Draco's robe. Hagrid raised a clenched fist to the door and knocked three times. Draco looked down at Harry's hand and wondered by Harry was clenching his sleeve so hard his knuckles were white.

When Draco saw the look in Harry's eyes he resisted the urge to smile. Harry was still hoping that this would be the place he could be free. What a stubborn fool.

The seed felt the warmth and began to stretch.


	3. The Sorting Hat

_(I get that you guys want to _follow _my story, but you know it'd be nice if you left a review. Maybe. Pretty please? Anyway, yeah, I do change things around and skip some things, but mostly I'll try to keep things that are concurrent with the plot - the same with the choice-changes.)_

**CHAPTER THREE: THE SORTING HAT**

The door swung open and Harry's eyes boggled behind their cracked glasses. His grip on Draco's sleeve loosened and he crept up as close as he could to the front of the group. A lady, tall with great circular glasses, which put Harry's to shame, stood in the door eyeing them solemnly with hazel-green eyes.

Hagrid bowed causing the students behind him to back away in fear for their lives, "Professor McGonagall, this 'ere is all the first years."

"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here. First years, follow me!" Her tone was not bossy, like Hermione's or Draco's, but it was more a serious voice – one that commanded the respect to follow her orders. She was stern, that much Harry was certain of.

The students hopped to. She turned her back to them, her teacher's robes swishing under her feet. As they walked the eleven year olds took in the sights. The entrance hall was large and awe-inspiring. A few students muttered that, "You could fit a whale in here!" It was indeed large enough to fit a whale, almost two of them side by side. The hall was lit by torches which looked to be _just _out of the reach of curious fingers. As Harry's gaze climbed the stone walls he eventually was looking directly upwards. The ceiling was so high that the he couldn't even discern the patterns that decorated it.

Draco, who had been quietly following (something he hardly ever did), decided to comment, "Illusions, Potter. The roof's not really _that _high."

In response, Harry flashed him a grateful grin and continued to look still very much in awe. Draco rolled his eyes mentally and then under his breath he muttered, "I _knew _he was easily impressed."

Eventually, they came to a marble staircase which led upwards in a spiralling manner. Marble, a notoriously hard stone to carve out of, would've made the job of making it curved unexplainably hard – or so Harry had read in one of the long forgotten books which his uncle had bought, but had "put into storage" after realising that redecorating the house would be too much hard work. The thought of his uncle made Harry scowl.

The mutterings of many voices, something like a group of flies sounded like, made Harry look at a door to their right, just before they reached the stairs. Harry had thought for a moment that they were going to go up them and as such was quite disappointed to find the Professor approaching the loud door.

She reached her hand out to the handle, but paused and turned to face the cohort, "Students, before we enter this hall I shall inform you what is happening. However, before I do that I have to say: welcome to Hogwarts!"

She smiled momentarily, something like a sharp-edged grin which she perhaps did not perform often enough to soften, and then immediately her face returned to its neutral (though hawk-like) expression, "Once inside these doors," she gestured behind herself with a hand that barely showed itself out of her robes, "you will be sorted into your houses. Your house will become your new family. Perhaps, you have made some friends already - do not be worried if you do not end up in the same house. House inter-mingling is very much encouraged as is healthy rivalry. However, you take classes with your houses, you sleep in the same dorm as your houses and you will also spend any and all free time with your houses."

The professor paused to take a breath, letting everything sink in, then she continued after looking almost everyone for just a moment in the eyes, "As you should well know by now, if you _had _read the necessary reading package supplied to you with your text books, there are four houses. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin," there was loud murmur when she said this house followed by many concerned whispers, which stopped once McGonagall gave them all a steady glance, "Each house is equal in all senses. No one house is favoured. However, at the end of each year there will be an award for the house which acts the most noble. Acting noble or justifiably right will earn you house points – the house with the most points in our last term banquet will, of course, win."

Once again she stopped, letting any muttering die down with her silence and stare. Her voice was considerably less warm as she spoke once again, "It must be noted that with every light end of the spectrum there is a dark end. If you do _not _act nobly or in a manner befitting a fledgling witch or wizard your house shall _lose _points. Something, I may add, you will wish to avoid most heartedly, if you wish to retain your good standing among your peers. I hope each of you become assets to your houses, however, if you find yourself without the ability to become an credit, do not fall to the level of becoming a hindrance."

Harry hadn't been expecting that last comment to affect him, but it did. Some of the vague worries about his title as the Boy Who Lived popped back into his head like daisies after the winter snows melted. A shiver dripped lazily down Harry's back and he felt goosebumps form on his arms. He cast a look over to Draco, but found the boy to not be paying much attention, which Harry was grateful for. His worries belonged to himself. Harry did a double-take at Draco, for the first time he hadn't realised the blonde was smirking. Harry wasn't too sure he wanted to know what the other wizard was thinking about. The brunette muffled a sigh at his owns concerns and concentrated back onto the professor.

She was watching the students like a bird of prey. It didn't seem to bother Harry much, which vaguely surprised him. Was he _used _to stares like that? He shook off the strange familiarity he felt and blinked as the professor disappeared behind the door, but not before remarking, "You'd best smarten yourselves up before entering. You don't want the other professors to see a group of stumbling fledglings."

The cohort immediately broke out into loud chattering. Draco turned to Harry and Harry raised an eyebrow at the expression on Draco's face, "Think something's funny, Malfoy?"

Draco shook his head in entertained amicability, "It's just that McGonagall's a Gryffindor. You wouldn't believe it from her just now. Father said she was almost sorted in Slytherin, but I didn't think she'd be so… well, Slytherin. Those back-handed comments – ingenious."

Harry took this in silently, as he couldn't judge well enough to know if one were Slytherin-ish or even Hufflepuff-ish… (Harry fought back the need to snort at the ridiculous name). For a second, he listened in on the conversations of those around him.

"I want to be in Gryffindor!"

"But I want to be in Gryffindor!"

"Well, you _both _can't be in Gryffindor... Because I'm going to be!"

The three friends fell into an intent and fiery argument which consisted only of, "No, I am!"

Somewhere off to Harry's right, he heard a small voice mutter, "Ravenclaw doesn't sound so bad…"

"If you're into that kind of stuff, Terry," this was followed by what Harry imagined was a snicker.

To Harry's left, "Hey, hey, Hannah – you should be in Hufflepuff! You always did like the three little pig muggle story."

"I think Hufflepuff is cool!"

"Sure. Hannah huffed and she puffed and then she HufflePuffed so she _blew _into that House."

A round of laughter was immediate. When they were silent again the sullen voice of Hannah spoke up, "Shut up, Susan! You know that "muggle" story just as well as I do, otherwise you wouldn't be able to talk about it like that!"

No matter how hard Harry listened, it wasn't there. Nowhere could Harry hear anyone talking about Slytherin. He'd read the mandatory package and it didn't _sound _bad. In fact, out of all the houses Slytherin and Gryffindor were the ones he would've picked, without Draco even entering the equation. Why did no one want to join Slytherin? For a second Hagrid's warning flitted despairingly into his mind, _"There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-know-who was one. "_

Harry's mouth fell open – surely, these choices had nothing to do with the _potential _of some _single _person in the house being bad? They couldn't possibly be assuming just because Voldemort was once in Slytherin that everyone else who ended up in Slytherin would be bad as well… Could they? Draco noticed the inner-turmoil of his friend and smirked, "So, you noticed, huh?"

"No one wants to be in Slytherin…"

"No one's _talking _about wanting to be in Slytherin. Something you need to know about us Slytherins. Our desires are never spoken out loud. We're silent and cunning, if I _do _say so myself," he looked positively smug, but continued, "Now take a look around… look at the quiet ones. I can bet you at least twelve gold galleons that those ones will end up in Slytherin," Draco jutted his jaw out at the few people who weren't holding conference with others, but were standing silently by themselves – observing.

Harry thought Draco was being ridiculous. Feeling rather confident, he stared intently at the few people and tried to remember the silent people's faces. He then grinned at Draco and held out a hand, "I'll take that bet, Malfoy!"

Draco smirked (_Again, _Harry thought despairingly) and took Harry's hand to shake it firmly, "You're on, Potter."

The door flung open just as Harry remembered the professor's last piece of advice and he swept a hand up to his hair to neaten it up. He only succeeded in messing it up more. Draco didn't need to do anything. He was still… (Harry smothered a giggle as he thought of Ron's description). Draco was still a _tidy _as ever. Harry let out a sigh, but as McGonagall appeared in front of them a thought popped into his head.

He glanced over to Draco and asked, "How do they know which house to put us in?"

A smile (_Or maybe half-smirk, _Harry mentally commented) played at the edges of Draco's mouth, "Oh, you'll find out."

Harry felt his heart give out a horrible jolt. Whatever that expression on Draco's face meant – it couldn't be a _good _thing. _Oh, well, _Harry thought, _It can't be something horrible. There's no way they'd allow that at a school. Even though this isn't a normal school… _Doubt began to cloud Harry's mind and he wondered if Draco were right when he had told Harry that Hogwarts wasn't Harry's place to be free.

It was horrible feeling – that the thing he had waited for, for so long might not be real. If it wasn't… Harry wasn't sure what he'd do. Maybe he'd do what Draco had suggested and keep searching… but he was so tired of searching and waiting that surely he'd give up and –

"Come along now," Professor McGonagall snapped at the students in a sharp voice, "The Sorting is going to start."

"Form a line," she said as the students fell silent and began to approach her, "And follow me."

Just as they did when they had followed Hagrid moments before, but which had felt like each second was an eternity, they got into single file. Harry felt his legs fall into a rubbery like state, in which he found it hard to take a straight step. He found a solution to this wobbly walk to be following Draco's steps exactly. Draco, of course, had ended up in front of Harry refusing to be left behind like he had been before. Hermione seemed to be, once again, the only one willing to be near either Harry or Draco. Curiously, the person behind Hermione was Ron and he was giving both Harry and Draco a rather deadly stare, possibly thinking of ways to embarrass them. Only Hermione seemed aware of it.

The doors swung open and Harry gulped his nervousness.

He blinked as the difference in lighting in the room caused his surroundings to be faded considerably. As he became accustomed to the low-light he felt his mouth slowly, but surely drop open. The silence of the rest of the cohort was obviously awe-inspired.

The only word which Harry could think of which aptly described any of the Great Hall was, "Awesome."

Though not as beautiful as floating in the sky it had its own eerie elegance. The only light came from the hundreds of dancing flames on the tip of lit wicks and candles which hung in the air, suspended only by something that could be explained with the arcane. In the centre of the room were four long tables adorned with many shiny, metallic platters and plates. At the front of the hall, far from Harry, there as another long table – sitting perpendicular to the other four and sitting at it were adults. Harry assumed they were the other professors. To avoid their stares, which somehow all seemed to be on him and him alone, Harry looked up.

The ceiling itself _was _the lake; stars and the darkness that only the absence of light could ever produce naturally. Hermione had been staring at it too and she whispered into Harry's ear, "It's bewitched to look like the night sky. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

Harry didn't doubt it, after what Draco had told him in the entrance hall. It seemed like _everything _here needed to have illusions to make it better. The more "bewitching" that took place the less Harry was genuinely impressed, apart from the anticipation in his heart which made him want to see more of the things that perhaps one day he would be able to do. Draco was silent again, but he was calmly and rather coolly taking in his surroundings. Ron's mouth was, inelegantly, wide open with his jaw just about scraping the ground as he trudged forth.

In the very front McGonagall was placing a four legged stool. Harry wondered absently about what was happening, but he was concentrating too hard to be bothered to actual conjure up any logical answer. Draco let out a breath of silent impatience; _I wish they'd stop making such a spectacle of this. It's not like its important or anything. Besides, I _know _which house I'm going to be in._

Hermione, however, was busy taking mental notes of everything; she might be quizzed on this!

On top the seemingly pointless stool she placed a rather… less than desirable pointed hat. Harry wondered why if everything had illusions this hat, which was frayed, dirty and falling apart, didn't. It must be something important. _Maybe that was the way they discerned things,_ Harry thought, _The more important end of the spectrum didn't need to have illusions – it should be respected the way it is naturally… _He glanced at Draco to check his expression, but as always the Malfoy's trait of being unreadable spoiled Harry's plan.

As the stool and hat sat in the centre of the room, everyone's attention was upon it. Harry realised it might be a trick. Like the Kansas City Shuffle – while you look left, they fall right. So, he glanced around just to be sure. Nothing else seemed to be occurring so, Harry trained his eyes back onto the stool. _Why was everyone so gosh-darned silent? _Harry asked himself.

Then the hat began to twitch. By itself. Then the part where the brim was ripped open into what looked almost exactly like a mouth.

Then it spoke, "I'll have you all know I was having quite a good time sleeping! Youngsters these days, no respect…" it then trailed off into mutterings.

The whole entire hall broke out in laughter. Well, everyone except the first years, who were almost entirely, freaked out… just a little. Harry watched the hat in fascination. He had been right. A talking hat obviously deserved not to be bewitched and as such his theory was still sound. Harry wondered what the hat would do.

"You've got to try it on. It can read minds, Potter. It'll put you in the house you belong in," Draco whispered back to Harry.

Harry felt like he was trapped between two know-it-alls. Both Hermione and Draco knew so much about magic, even though Hermione was muggle born. Harry was a half-blood and he knew less then her. For a second, thoughts about his supposed triumph against Voldemort played in his mind. If Harry didn't _know _magic, how was it possible that he defeated one of the strongest wizards that _ever _lived?

If there were a house for someone who didn't feel like he could fill the shoes he'd be given then it would've been perfect for him. Harry let out a sigh as McGonagall pulled a parchment that looked to extremely long from her sleeves. Harry had no idea how it had fit in there, but then he realised what a ridiculous thought it was. He was in a _magic _school for god's sakes. Anything was possible!

"When I call your name you will sit on the stool and put the hat on to be sorted," She stopped to let everyone hear her voice project through the halls, "Abbot, Hannah!"

It was the girl who'd been teased about being in Hufflepuff. She sat meekly on the chair and placed the hat on which almost completely encapsulated her face. It was good thing too, for when the hat screamed out, "HUFFLEPUFF!" no one saw her cheeks turn red with embarrassment.

One of the tables cheered and she sat with them.

"Bones, Susan!" Shouted McGonagall.

It was the girl who'd been teasing poor Hannah.

Almost as soon as the hat went on it boomed, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry found himself smirking at the irony.

"Boot, Terry!" went the Professor.

It was the boy who said Ravenclaw wouldn't be a bad house.

"RAVENCLAW!"

It seemed ones own desire for their won personal house didn't matter. It may have a small effect, judging by Terry's house, but it didn't do much for you. It was your personality or mind-set which affected the choice. Harry raised a questioning eyebrow as other names went through. No one had ended up in either Gryffindor or Slytherin yet. The young wizard grinned, _I _was _right. They _are _the best houses. Exclusives, only._

One of the three who'd been fighting about who'd end up Gryffindor actually ended up _in _Gryffindor. The other two ended up somewhere Harry wasn't sure of. A "Bulstrode, Millicent" was the first to go to Slytherin. Harry recalled her face. She had been one of the silent ones. He felt a shadow of premonition hit him. He'd been a fool. Draco was going to win the bet. He let out a sigh. The Slytherin table didn't even cheer; they accepted her with cool nods.

Eventually, it came to people that Harry knew personally.

"Granger, Hermione!"

She appeared to be a little bit over eager and as such the hat exclaimed that she'd touched it inappropriately when she slammed it on her head. Her face was red when the hat called out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

She walked off just as quickly.

Draco swaggered on when his name was called, his vain face smiling. The hat barely even touched his head before his wish was granted, "SLYTHERIN!"

Draco walked off, looking _very _pleased with himself. Once again the table did not cheer. It seemed to be against their personalities. Harry watched as Draco sat next to two larger looking boys. Draco, however, paid them no mind and was now staring and waiting, presumably for Harry to join him. Harry tried to smile in reassurance, but he wasn't completely sure either. If desire had next to nothing to do with the way the hat selected he wasn't sure he possessed any of the traits that Slytherins usually had.

Harry's concern mounted with every name that went past, for it was always drawing forever closer to his own. Every time the tables got a new addition they all clapped, except Slytherin and the sounds were beginning to grate on Harry's nerves. He felt himself break out into a nervous sweat. Abruptly, all too soon, the P's were being called. And then… finally, it was, "Potter, Harry!"

Harry walked, his legs feeling like some combination between lead and rubbery - heavy, but unable to take a straight step. Like snakes, a hissing soon filled the Great Hall as the name Harry Potter reverberated on everyone's lips. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. Then he lowered himself onto the stool and placed the hat upon his head. Harry closed his eyes, trying to ignore everything except the hat.

"My, my, my. You _are_ a difficult one. Very difficult. Plenty of courage and quite an ideal of what is true, I see. Hmmm, not a bad mind either. Oh and my goodness, what a thirst to prove yourself. Interesting, now, where should I put you?"

Harry bit his lip and figured he might as well try, _Slytherin, please. Slytherin, please._

"Slytherin, hey?" said the voice, "Are you sure? I _could _put you into Gryffindor. It could make you great, you know, it's all here in your head and I'm sure Gryffindor will help you on your way to greatness. You're brave enough and you've quite a heavy thought of chivalry in your head. Hmmm, but if I dig a little bit deeper…" there was a shocked silence, followed by the hat being promptly impressed, "My, my, my. Hiding that from me. Well, I'll have to put you into Slytherin now. What a pity. SLYTHERIN!"

Harry let out the breath of air he didn't know he had been holding and felt a great weight lift off his shoulders. What happened next was outrageous and unexpected. In the silence that the decision had gained a single person from the Slytherin table began to clap. And then slowly the thunder began to build to the rest of the table. Until, finally the _whole _table was cheering out an uproar. It was unheard of. The Slytherin house _never _cheered. Beneath the Slytherin chaos Harry Potter heard words muttered.

"The Next Dark Lord."

It felt like a punch to his stomach and Harry found himself feeling rather faint. He walked slowly to his table and was greeted by Draco smiling, "Well, this is going to cause quite a scandal. The Boy Who Lived in _Slytherin_."

Harry fell into the seat beside Draco and dug his face into the palms of his hands. He hadn't been expecting this… Maybe Slytherin was the wrong choice. But Draco was his only friend, how could he live in a house where he didn't have any friends? If he hadn't had conversed with Draco in Madam Malkin's Robes he wouldn't have ended up here…

As he glanced up to look into the shark-skin eyes of Draco a smile slowly grew on his face. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He didn't have any other friends yet. And Draco already knew Harry's greatest desire. The smile on Harry's face was radiant and many of the Slytherins on the table – even the older years found themselves enraptured. Harry radiated warmth. Like the sun.

Draco scowled at the others, still possessive about the smile being only for friends, but he let it go. His father had been right. Harry _was _going to be the Next Dark Lord. And, by all the magic in the world, Draco would make him fulfil his destiny. Not only because his father thought that encouraging Harry would let Voldemort rise again, but because Draco thought Harry had the potential to be something.

When Draco came back from his thoughts he noticed Harry was staring at the professors' table. The young wizard obviously only knew three of the people sitting there; Hagrid, McGonagall and Quirrell. Draco decided to make Harry a little less naïve, "The middle one is our Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. He favours Gryffindor. Only Slytherin knows that though. Everyone will tell you otherwise."

Harry curiously gazed at the old man in the centre. Harry had to admit the man didn't _look _impressive, but there was atmosphere about him which screamed _power. _Harry watched, disinterested as the other students were sorted into houses. After Slytherins impressive outburst the other cheering seemed to pale in comparison and the other houses were looking dejected, which the Slytherins obviously delighted in. When finally, "Zabini, Blaise" was placed into Slytherin McGonagall rolled up her parchment, placed it back into her sleeve and walked to her own chair at the professors' table.

As Harry's gaze trailed Blaise back to their table his eyes fell upon the golden platters in front of him. He didn't feel very hungry. Perhaps, because his usual meal times had come and passed.

Headmaster Dumbledore got to his feet and beamed at his students, a large foolish smile on his face. Harry did not think much of him. He seemed… perhaps like an old man who had just secretly stolen a chocolate from a shop and was enjoying talking to the shop owner, while eating the chocolate, the shop owner unaware of the theft. Why Harry thought of that particular situation he wasn't sure.

"Welcome," he said, "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin out banquet I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

And then he bowed and sat. For some reason, or another everyone clapped. Gryffindor clapped chaotically, Ravenclaw clapped as each individual saw fit, Hufflepuff clapped cheerfully and Slytherin clapped as softly as they could – some not even making any noises. It was clear who found their Headmaster's speech amusing and who did not. Harry wasn't entertained – not the slightest bit.

"Is he crazy?" Asked Harry, his voice low in a conspirational whisper.

"Quite, but he's one of the best wizards to ever live," Draco admitted darkly.

"Is that the only reason he's our Headmaster?" Harry questioned, a crinkle in his brow.

"Most likely. Potatoes?" Draco replied, conversationally.

Harry frowned and stared dully at the plate of food that Draco was pointing at. For a second nothing computed in Harry's mind, but then suddenly everything buzzed. Harry hadn't seen so much food in his life. The platters were literally _flowing_ with food. And every single piece looked better than even Aunt Petunia's finest. Even though Harry wasn't particularly hungry he found himself stacking his own plate with numerous different dishes. Roast beef, pork chops, Caesar salad, bacon, steak, boiled potatoes, fries, carrots, various fruits and to top it all off he poured a good wallop of onion gravy over the savoury part of his meal. Harry dug in with a vigour he didn't know he had, savouring every little taste.

Everything tasted better than the thing before it. When the deserts came out he found himself unable to fit in a bite more, but still somehow managed to eat a treacle tart. After he did he felt absolutely bloated. He promised himself he would never eat another morsel of food more. But then he saw a delicious looking pudding and… succumbed. Poor Harry felt like he would explode. _No more! _– He told himself.

Finally talk on the table actually started as the Slytherins began to… warm up, isn't precisely the correct term to use, but perhaps began to become acquainted would suit better. Talk, of course, was a double layer – from what Harry could tell. They were only talking of their families, but it was as if that was only the cover for something more meaningful.

Harry sat quiet and listened.

"My father says the meetings have begun again. He'll be talking to your parents soon, Crabbe. Also, if you didn't know this - there's the potential of a new head in our parents' social group. Can you believe that? Do any of you know of who it could be? Because I'd like to know, it'll matter to us too." It was Goyle who was speaking. Harry didn't expect the boy to know this double-speak language, but perhaps he had under-estimated him.

Draco smirked, "Of course, I know. But _my _father doesn't want to share. He said the new organiser might make the group a little angry. Might do stuff a bit differently. Anyway, what about your mother, Goyle? Is she going to be joining the social festivities soon?"

Goyle turned pale and muttered under his breath, "I don't know. She's always had her own mind. Dad just can't convince her to sign the contract."

Crabbe sighed, "I can't wait until we're offered a part in their social group. But that's going to take forever!"

Draco smirked, "So you would think."

Harry frowned. He had no idea what they were talking about. He knew there was a conversation behind the conversation, but he couldn't be sure. He began to grow bored and annoyed with his limited understanding. So his eyes trailed the professor's tables. There was Hagrid, drinking – Harry imagined he could drink a whole barrel of wine and not be drunk, considering his body size. Then there was Professor McGonagall enjoying a piece of cheese cake. Dumbledore seemed to be quite enraptured with getting a jelly bean on the end of his fork, but it kept skipping out from the pressure he applied to it. Quirrell was eating cheese, quite daintily, Harry had to admit.

Just behind him, from the angle Harry was sitting at, was a professor that Harry didn't know. From what Harry could see of him skating around the edge of Quirrell's turban - a hooked nose, black hair and sharp glaring eyes, he wasn't a teacher you'd want to mess with.

It happened quite suddenly. Quirrell turned his head and Harry caught full gaze of the black-haired man's face. And then his scar began burning. It was like someone stabbing him in the head, hot and searing. And as Harry shot a hand up to touch it he caught his glasses, causing his vision to obscure. When he lost focus the pain went away. Draco, who had noticed, raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry replied, once again figuring to keep his own concerns to himself.

Though the pain was gone, he couldn't help but feel something horrid curling in the pit of his stomach when he thought about looking at the teacher again. Harry looked over to Draco, "Who's that teacher next to Professor Quirrel?"

"That's Snape. He teaches Potions. Father informs me he is a wonderful teacher. And one I can trust."

Harry wondered why if Draco could trust him, why couldn't Harry himself? He didn't want to look at Snape again, lest the pain hit him. It wouldn't be worth the risk to worry anyone else.

As Harry contemplated the pain the food abruptly disappeared and Dumbledore stood up to make one more announcement, "I have a few start of term notices to give you. First years should note that the Forbidden Forrest is, well, forbidden. A few of our older pupils should note that as well."

He gave the twin Weasley's a quick glance, but he then continued, "I've been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used in between classes in the corridors. Also, Quidditch trials will be held on the second-week. Anyone wishing to play should contact Madam Hooch. And last but not least, I must warn you all to stay off the third floor, unless you wish to die a sudden and painful death."

Harry found himself unable to breath. This school was dangerous!

Dumbledore didn't have much to say after that except, "And now, bedtime! Off you trot."

The Slytherin first years followed their prefect out of the Great Hall and up the languishly carved marble staircase. Harry felt like sprinting up. He was ready to be amazed again. Draco was grumbling about Harry's apparent lack of any need to rest. When they got to the portraits, Harry stopped dead in his tracks, causing Draco to run into his back. The blonde scowled at him, "What is it now?"

Harry couldn't contain the excitement in his voice, "The portraits _move!_"

"Of course they move. Any decent wizard enchants their portraits," Draco said with a roll of his eyes.

Harry was so naïve sometimes. _And, _Draco thought about all the things that he would one day have to do, _it may not be a bad thing…_

The spiral stair case eventually split out into different paths and other staircases which also led to different paths. Harry became confused trying to follow a single path with his eyes. It felt like forever when they finally arrived at their dorm, but Harry didn't mind one bit. He'd eaten so much food that he felt like he had enough energy to go for a few more days without resting. The "door" was a portrait with a sharp looking man, "Password?"

"_Sic itur ad astra_," The prefect uttered, the words slipping off his tongue with obvious ease.

"Correct," the man muttered, apparently disappointed and the portrait swung open.

The pupils stepped through and found themselves in the Slytherin common room. It was, obviously, decorated in green and white. Its furniture looked quite modern and sharp. There was a vague sense of… cleanliness about the room which wiped it clear of personality. If anything, the character of the room was somehow… brooding, but the thoughtful kind which made one think it was more of a plotting room than anything else.

The prefect directed the girls to their half of the dorms and the boys to theirs. Going up even more stairs, which Harry was grateful for, for they seemingly took away his last bit of energy. Finally, they found their beds. Oddly enough Harry's bed was next to Draco's, which Harry was adamantly happy about. Their beds were four posts which were decorated with heavy blankets, of course, the colour green, but this green seem more… warmer. Like grass growing. Harry commented about it to Draco who snorted at him. Turning their backs on each other, the stripped and changed into their pyjamas.

Harry said goodnight to Draco to which Draco snorted at again, but said his goodnights as well. Then they fell into their own beds. Harry wasn't that exhausted, but he knew he should probably sleep. So, Harry closed his eyes and before he drifted off to the land of nod he wished fervently that this would be the place he dreamed of. Where he could be free.

So far, it had been, but he was cautious ever since Draco had warned him.

Long after Harry had fallen asleep, Draco was still awake. Even though his eye lids dragged themselves down, almost forcing him to sleep he knew he could not. There was still too much to think about. Besides, if he was going to shape Harry into a good… well, not good, better Dark Lord than Voldemort had been then it was going to take a lot of effort.

Draco rolled around and before he closed his eyes he looked briefly at Harry who was deep asleep. For a second, Draco wondered what it would've been like if they hadn't become friends. After a second contemplation he realised he had no idea. Maybe they would've turned out to hate each other. Perhaps, rivals even. He smirked to himself and closed his eyes. As if that would've ever happened. Slowly, the smirk turned into a smile and then faded from his face and he also fell sleep.

Harry dreamt. It made no sense.

Something laughed at him. It was so dark; he couldn't even see his own hand. But he saw Snape, who was screaming. He saw Draco, who was crying. His scar burned with fire, but made no light. There were two Harry's, but only one of them moved. And then suddenly everything swirled together and disappeared into a drain.

Harry started awake, his heart beating a mile a minute, sweat heavy on his body and his mouth unexplainably dry. He tried to make sense of it all, but as soon as he realised that he had dreamt of Draco crying he instantly dismissed it. Harry smiled to himself as he drifted off once again, _Draco crying? Yeah, the day pigs fly._

The next day when he woke up all he could remember was his dream of pigs with wings.


	4. The Potions Master

(_Just so you know, I'm going to be doing a shout out to each person who leaves a review at the end of each chapter. It's my gratitude to everyone for putting their time into reading this. Also, to people with any questions, I'll send you a PM.)_

**CHAPTER FOUR: THE POTIONS MASTER**

The furniture was sharp; all edges and corners – no curves in sight. Harry eyed it sceptically. None of the lounges looked even vaguely comfortable, but the young wizard was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. He fell, rather trustingly, into the base of one of the common room's sofas.

Sleep-muck still crumbled at the edges of his eyes and the poor boy felt just like heading back off to bed. However, he fought the temptation and rubbed wearily behind his glasses. Everyone else was long gone – for breakfast, Harry was sure. The only boy in their dorm who still slept was Draco. It was strange, but the Slytherins had been gracefully accepting of him; quiet, but like they thought he in fact was destined to be here.

A few seconds beforehand, Harry had tried everything to wake Draco from his slumber, but had hadn't even stirred. Harry yawned, his mouth stretching into a mangled 'o'. He'd had no idea that Draco was such as heavy sleeper. Contradictory to their appearance the sofas were in fact incredibly soft and as Harry sunk into the cushions he felt he was sinking back into the land of nod. He let out an annoyed, exasperated sound and mentally pulled himself away from the tantalising nothingness.

The young wizard had been ready at the same time every other Slytherin, and he imagined every other student, had been, but he had insisted on staying until the Malfoy heir stopped snoring. The other students had dutifully informed him that they were expected to have breakfast in the Great Hall, before retiring to their first classes. Then they had left. Harry frowned in vague concern; he hadn't expected his friend to sleep in this long.

With a sigh, Harry pulled himself away from the soft lulls of sleep and stood, rather shakily, onto his own two feet. Out of all the things he had tried he'd forgotten to do the most simple. Threaten Draco.

Harry trudged up the dorm stairs to their bedrooms and slinked his way to the end of the pale boy's bed. He fell unceremoniously onto it at Draco's feet and crawled over to the blonde's side, adopting a crossed leg position.

"Malfoy, if you don't get up right now I'll spread rumours that you…" Harry paused to think of something that would rattle the vain boy and then he smiled, "I'll say you _aren't _just a tidy person."

Harry watched expectantly at the boy, but Draco didn't even bat an eyelash. Harry let out a loud and defeated sigh, "I swear to God, Malfoy, you're the worst friend I've ever had!"

Once again Harry looked at the boy hopefully, but he was thoroughly disappointed.

"I wonder what you're dreaming about. I bloody hope its worth getting us both into trouble."

It depended on one's view of worth. To Draco, as evident from the hidden grimace on his face, it was not. However, if _Harry _had seen his dream it would've been equal to his weight on gold. To the seed in the garden bed of Draco's mind, the dream was the exact nutrient it needed to begin its life; a small root crept into the soil, taking ground.

_It was them, but it wasn't. Draco was smiling with Harry; just talking. They had nothing to worry about. The expression on their faces was so carefree that nothing could've happened to ruin the joyful mood that hung in the air._

_Draco, who was dreaming this, didn't even think they were wizards. They looked, to him, like two muggles._

"_Malfoy, is this is? Asked the Harry in his dream, eyes bright and cheerful._

"_Is it, Potter?"_

"_I think so. This is my place. I can feel it."_

"_If you say so, Harry."_

"Harry…" muttered Draco in his sleep and the young wizard cast him the oddest glare.

A pleased, if somewhat, embarrassed look played on Harry's face. Draco was dreaming about him. It was satisfying to Harry in an ironic way; Harry was waiting for Draco, but in the dream Harry must've _been _with him already.

"I'm flattered, Malfoy, but all the dreams in the world aren't going to get us out of trouble if you don't wake up now!"

Harry glanced anticipatorily at the blonde, but still he didn't react. Harry rolled his eyes in defeat, "Honestly, Malfoy. Get up. I've already lost my patience, but you're making me lose track of my sanity…"

The blonde did not give off even a semblance of waking up. Harry sighed and with great effort pushed the boy over so that he could lie down on his back next to him, "Gosh, Malfoy, you're such a git!"

Harry turned to look Draco, face-to-face. Even when sleeping Harry couldn't read him. He moaned, "Can't you just get up already, Malfo-"

The young wizard stopped midsentence, his mouth still forming the long 'o'. While dreaming, Draco had called him "Harry". At that moment in time it only occurred to the boy with glasses that they usually referred to each other by their surnames. His interest piqued by the sudden difference, Harry propped his head up on his right arm and took a deep lungful of air.

Then in a breath no louder than the whispering of the dead Harry said, "Draco."

The pale boy shot up and, completely taken off guard, Harry fell to floor - startled.

"Merlin's beard, Potter, what _were_ you doing on my bed?" Draco asked with a barely concealed scowl; wondering if Harry's close presence was to blame for the strangest dream he'd ever had.

"Waking you up, you git! Everyone else went to breakfast half an hour ago."

"Why didn't you wake me up earlier then!" Draco vehemently questioned, throwing his blanket off him and began to rush around the room.

Harry felt rage bubble up inside him from the injustice, but he took a deep long breath and instead changed the subject with an innocent smile and a question of his own, "Sweet dreams, Malfoy?"

The slight freeze in Draco's fluid movements was the only indication whatsoever that showed the blonde to even be the slightest bit affected. Harry was beginning to read the sudden jerks as moments of mind instability. Draco replied nonchalantly, "I don't recall."

_As if, _Harry remarked contemptuously in his mind. He watched Draco's frantic movements mindlessly until Draco reached a moment of static, "Turn around, I'm changing,"

Harry snorted, "We're both guys, it's not like I haven't seen-"

"Your choice," Draco cut in as he lifted his pyjama shirt.

Harry spun around almost instantly, his cheeks tinged pink, "Git."

He could've sworn he _heard_ Draco smirk. It felt like an eternity had passed as Harry squirmed impatiently, "Are you finished yet?"

The unmistakable sound of pants hitting the floor was Draco's only response.

Harry whined, "Hurry up, Malfoy, you don't need to _always _be so tidy."

The response came directly from next to Harry's ear, causing him to start, "I'll have you know, it's a purebloods expectation to remain clean to show our higher status."

After his heart calmed from Draco's sudden voice Harry took in his appearance. Impeccable, as ever. Not even a hint of the snoring, dishevelled boy that resided a few seconds in the past remained. Draco smirked at Harry's silence, "I know you're enthralled by my good looks, but unless you've found a way to transfigure beauty into food we'd best make our way to the Great Hall… Wait, are you going like that?"

Harry frowned his confusion, "Like what?"

"Your hair looks like an eagle's decided to take nest there. No self-respecting wizard goes out like that-"

"Exactly," Harry said, his turn to cut in, as he dug into his robe's pocket, "Hold out your hand."

Draco's eyes narrowed cautiously, but bid as he was told. The satisfying clink of twelve metallic objects followed. Harry didn't want his doubts about being the Boy Who Lived out in the open just yet, but he found it challenging to lie to Draco. Harry smiled at the mystified expression on Draco's face, "You won the bet. The twelve gold galleons are _all _yours."

Draco pocketed the small fortune with a rare, "Thank you."

They walked silently to the Great Hall, enjoying the views as they made their way there. Harry would've gotten lost if it wasn't for the insane memorising ability that Draco had. Harry was beginning to think that Draco was a lot more intelligent than he let on. The brunette wondered if this hidden fact made Draco, Slytherin-ish. Unbeknownst to himself, Harry had successfully managed to make Draco both quiet and _also _satisfied; a notoriously hard thing to do.

The blonde remained silent for two more reasons. One of them was a little dark memory of his own; the cause of his deep-sleep. The other reason was that he knew Harry, blatantly obvious Harry, was hiding something. _And if he thinks he can hide if from _me, _of all people, _me,_ he's got another thing coming, _Draco commented snidely to himself.

When they arrived at the Great Hall they weren't surprised to find it void of life. Harry complained, "Draco, I'm starving!"

It was a slip of the tongue. After waking the blonde with his first name it seemed almost natural to continue with it. Draco, however, instantly became aware and he gave Harry a narrow, steely glare, "Did you just call me by my given name, Potter?"

Harry attempted an apologetic smile, but failed, "Yeah…"

Draco hid his disdain for Harry's ignorance behind mockery, "Does your naivety know no bounds?"

Harry flushed, ready to counter-argue when a bushy haired girl appeared practically from nowhere, "What _are_ you two doing here?"

The two Slytherins, both startled, acted quite the opposite. Harry brightened with a smile while Draco darkened with a scowl, "What's it to you, muggle-born?"

Anything Draco said to Hermione seemed bounce off and Draco was reminded of something he had once heard a muggle say, "_I'm __rubber_, _you__'re glue, words __bounce off me and stick__ to __you." _His expression darkened considerably when he thought of it.

"I didn't see you at breakfast, so I took a little bit of everything for you both. Ron remarked that I hoarded like a pig. I told him he had his metaphors mixed up, but – Oh, silly me. Here, you go!"

She opened up a bag and the seducing aroma of bacon and eggs wafted out to tease Harry. Draco looked less than impressed; in fact he looked more or less suspicious. His eyes narrowed into two very snake-like slits, "Why are you helping us?"

"You? I'm helping Harry, who just seems to hang around you. He's no idea what he's done by being your friend, but I do," she paused to give Draco a very snooty look, "Ron's told me all about you Malfoys," she looked straight into Harry's eyes, "You be careful, you hear?"

Harry nodded dumbly and watched as Hermione took her leave, bustling from the Great Hall as quick as she could. The brunette quickly watched the carnage of what Hermione had just said as it crossed slowly over Draco's face. Draco let out small high pitched sound and shouted, in a rather controlled fashion, "That mudblood! I have half a mind to jinx her!"

Harry waited a few seconds as Draco seethed before asking, "What's a mudblood?"

Draco let out an exasperated sigh, "Oh, shut it, Potter. I don't feel like answering any of your idiotic questions right now. Anyway, we have to go class or Professor McGonagall will take points off Slytherin. And we don't even _have _any."

They made their way to class. How Harry wasn't sure, but he was following Draco in a sense of awe. How Draco new the outlay of this place didn't matter to him. Hogwarts was a maze, no, a labyrinth. He was sure it'd been designed to confuse anyone who entered it and leaving them running for their lives.

The stairs moved, Harry could've sworn. They changed direction when you weren't looking. The people in the portraits swapped to different places each day, so using them to mark any sort of set path was ludicrous. It must've been boring sitting in the same frame each day, Harry figured. The number of doors also set Harry back a few steps. Some of the doors weren't even _doors. _Harry had a hard time keeping up to Draco as he all but ran (_Draco didn't look as though he were losing his composure, _Harry noted unfairly). Finally, they arrived at their class and crept in hoping the teacher wouldn't realise they were late.

Unfortunately, as it seems, sneaking and being the Boy Who Lived do not mix well. As soon as any of the students (who weren't Slytherin – it seemed they were taking a doubles with Ravenclaw) caught sight of him the room was set aflame with whispers.

"_There, look."_

"_Is that Harry Potter?"_

"_The one with the glasses?"_

"_Can you see his face properly?"_

"_Never mind about his face, can you see his scar?"_

They were only a set of the quiet voices he could hear clearly. Inwardly, Harry shrunk away from the gazes. He felt somewhat like a sham. There was no way he was the Boy Who Lived. It was impossible. It was less likely that he was going to be the _next _Dark Lord as well. It wasn't that he _wanted _to be the next Dark Lord, but being treated like him was unfair for the real one.

"Ah, pleased you could be bothered to join us, Malfoy, Potter," came the sound of a voice Harry knew.

Professor McGonagall stepped from the shadows of a nearby column and gestured to the only empty seats in the class, "Sit."

"Now that our two _last _students have seen it fit to join us, we can begin properly. Everyone take out their quills and books. And write this down on your very first page – as a reminder," she waved her wand in the air, setting to spark something, "Transfiguration is one of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," the letters formed in the sparks for the students to copy down and Harry frantically opened his own book to begin, "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. This is your single and final warning."

Even when she stopped talking the words hung in the air long enough for everyone to copy down.

Transfiguration, Harry found, was the magic of turning one thing into another; he'd gathered that much from Draco's reference to it before, but now he was sure. He wondered why they didn't call it alchemy. They were basically the same thing… right? Or was Harry's own knowledge of things completely wrong?

The first task they were set, after writing down a whole lot of stuff he wasn't even near understanding, was turning a match into a needle. Harry thought it seemed simple enough, but he found it to be incredibly hard. The exhilaration of using magic was like looking down upon the world atop of the highest mountains; Harry felt positively alive and bewildered by the view, but at the same time he felt short of breath. He wondered if it felt like that to anyone else. Draco's expression was too… blank to be of any help, but as he gazed around the room he realised the only other look people had was one of pure frustration. It was like Harry was the only one who delighted in the tantalising use of magic.

By the end of class Harry's match looked only like a slightly silver match, whereas Draco's looked like slightly pointed wood. Both found themselves incredibly disappointed by their own lack of achievement. Draco became infuriated, but Harry became dejected; each of them inwardly facing expectations neither of them could meet.

Professor McGonagall spoke before everyone left the class, "The fact no one here has transfigured their matches means nothing. I've once taught a boy who couldn't even make the match take on a single characteristic of a needle, but who has become an Auror. Now, off you go. No need to be late for your next class."

If, perhaps, Harry had known what an Auror was he would've been comforted by her words, but he did not. Draco, still looking rather unapproachable, wouldn't be willing to answer any more of Harry's "idiotic questions". He'd thought Hogwarts would be fun. It still could be, but he knew he'd have to change his definition of fun. He let out a sigh as they followed the crowd of Slytherins to the next class.

It had been Defence Against the Dark Arts. From the mutterings in the cohort that Harry walked with it sounded like everyone was most interested in it. Harry wasn't particularly curious about it, but he found his expectations rather high after listening to the others chatter endlessly about it. Draco was still in a horrid mood when they entered the class and upon seeing their teacher, Professor Quirrell, he sunk into, if it were possible, an even worse one.

The room smelled horribly like garlic, one of the main ingredients in Aunt Petunia's Tuna Casserole and Harry found himself growing sick after a few moments. He was sure it was the memory that made him feel so nauseous, but then again… They took their seats and watched as Quirrell fumbled around attempting to teach. Harry's first impression of him had been entirely right; Professor Quirrell wasn't suited to teaching. Many of the Slytherins mocked him when his back was turned and Harry had to fight the urge to laugh. Someone mentioned that Quirrell must've used the garlic to keep away vampires and laughter assaulted the entire class, but when the Professor spun around everyone went quiet.

When their class was over Harry didn't feel like he'd learned anything at all – they hadn't even used magic! As Harry glanced over to Draco he was startled to find the boy almost smiling.

Harry was afraid to ask what had put the blonde in such a good mood and instead shot him a questioning glare. Draco let the smile break out on his face, almost indulgently, "We have Potions next."

The sick feeling in the pit of Harry's came back, but he ignored it, "Is Professor Snape a good person?"

Draco attempted to muffle the snort that came out, but failed, "Can anyone who's the Head of Slytherin be a 'good person'?"

Harry replied instantly, "Yes."

Draco let out a sigh, "Potter, Potter, Potter."

And without continuing with any sort of explanation for his sudden consolidation he began to walk off. Presumably to their next class. Harry wondered idly if they were going to have lunch any time soon, he'd put the curling in the pit of his stomach to being hungry. It was the only logical justification… wasn't it?

"Potter! Pay attention!" Draco snarled as Professor Snape spoke, snapping Harry out of his thoughts as he realised that they had already made their way into Potions.

Snape was marking off names on roll-call, but paused at Harry's, "Ahh, yes. Harry Potter – our new _celebrity_."

Harry shrunk away from the gazes of the rest of the class as they all swung over to look at him. They were judging him, he could tell. He could just imagine the thoughts going through their minds, _Glasses? Look how skinny he is. Looks more like moppet than a wizard. Can't even clean himself properly. The Next Dark Wizard? Maybe in a million years. _Harry felt considerably more pathetic as the silent audience continued to stare. Draco gave the teacher a sharp look and Harry watched as the two exchanged glances. The young wizard wondered what that was all about. Harry felt somewhat out of the loop as Snape walked away, clearly disappointed.

Harry hissed at the blonde, "What was that?"

Draco looked coolly back at him, "What?"

The adolescent brunette bit back an urge to yell unseemly things at Draco and instead fixated his attention on Snape, who had begun to speak again, "-bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper to death – that's all if you're smart enough to understand it all."

Draco watched in anticipation and Harry only just noticed that they were taking a double with Gryffindor when he saw Hermione practically leaping from her chair from the injustice of the comment; obviously ready to prove that she _was _smart enough. Harry didn't have to look far to see Ron. He seemed to be stuck in a permanent scowl which was directed at Draco. Harry couldn't blame him. Draco _did _get on the bad side of many people, including himself sometimes.

"Potter!" snapped Snape, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry blinked blankly at the man for a second and caught Draco giving him a rather unforgiving stare, "I imagine you'd have a mixture of powdered root of asphodel and wormwood infusion, sir."

Snape's lips curled into an amused, but threatening sneer, "The name, Potter."

"Asphodel and wormwood infusion?" Harry asked, hoping, but knowing it was wrong.

"Tut, tut – clearly fame isn't _everything_."

He ignored Hermione was practically leaping up and down for her own raised hand to be seen, "Let's try again, Potter. Tell me where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry didn't understand what the point of all this questioning was. He didn't know the answer. He hardly thought _anyone _knew the answer, except of course Hermione who looked like she was in pain containing the bottled up answer. He wondered if he stayed silent long enough if she'd burst out with the answer. Judging by the impatient curl in Snape's mouth that didn't look like it was an option. Harry smothered a sigh, _What is God's name is a bezoar? _Harry wasn't the only one who was confused by Snape's actions; Draco was positively confounded.

His father told him that he would be able to trust Snape. Why, after the silent conversation they'd had, was Snape still assaulting Harry? Usually, Draco wouldn't stand for this, to sit still and let his friend be insulted, but in the class-room where Snape had seniority Draco wasn't allowed to speak out. Instead, he settled for a very unignorable, harsh glare towards his professor.

"In a bezoars' natural habitat," Harry replied with as much confidence that he could muster. It was an ambiguous answer, his knew it was right, but as the same time wrong – for it wasn't detailed enough.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Harry didn't look away from Snape's black eyed gaze. He _had _read the books. In fact, he'd read them _all _in the long, long month before August, but that didn't mean he'd retained any of the information from them. The only things he could remember were the things which left either an entertaining thought in his mind or made him question the whole basis on naming things. Especially from the book, _One Thousand Magical Herb and Fungi. _In fact, one of the only things he'd remembered from that particular book was that there were two herbs named two different things, but were essentially the same – just grown in two different climates. He'd found it ridiculous to name the same thing differently. And as such he remembered the basis of his thoughts of them, but he couldn't even recall what they were… which didn't help him at all.

"Potter, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Snape asked, ignoring the about to explode Hermione.

Harry's eyes widened as the two names struck a memory in his head. _Those _were the names of the plants which were the same. He knew it. It had to be. It was trick question. A smile grew on Harry's face as his green eyes took on a challenging glint, "Are you sure _you _opened a book before school started, sir? Because if you had you'd find that they're the same plant."

Snape almost recoiled in shock. Many of the others in the class including Hermione went silent in surprise. A few people laughed and Snape shot them one of the worst looks he'd ever had. A student ridiculing an adult? Preposterous. Severus also felt a low anger inside him begin to shake, something he thought he had long since forgotten. Harry caught Draco's eye, who seemed to look both amused and, at the same time, offended. Harry, not use to such an open display of emotion from the boy, smiled back.

Snape snapped a hand down on the table in front of Harry. A ring on his hand glinted momentarily and Harry gave it only a second of his attention before meeting Snape's eyes, "Five points to Slytherin for answering correctly. Four points taken for being disrespectful to your seniors," he gave the glasses wearing boy a long hard glare and then turned away, "The correct name for an asphodel and wormwood mixture is Draught of the Living Dead. It creates an extremely strong sleeping potion. With a few different ingredients and properly mixed it creates a potion now as a growth-cure which prevents mutated growth. And Potter, you would find a bezoar in the stomach of a goat – it will save you from most poisons," he paused and gave everyone a fiery glance, "Why aren't you writing this down?"

There was a loud scramble as people began to frantically copy it down in their books. Harry didn't bother, he'd remember it, maybe just to spite Snape should he ever ask again.

Things steadily went downhill when they were asked to begin brewing some potions. Harry was paired with Hermione and Draco with the boy who'd lost his toad on the train; Neville – That's what Harry thought his name was. Draco stared at Hermione with barely concealed hate and Harry didn't even need to wonder why. Draco was awfully selfish. That was all.

Hermione was staring at Harry in something that could be called awe if you tend to see it that way, "Where'd you get the courage to stand up to Snape?"

Harry shrugged and replied, "It was something that needed doing, and I can't just ignore stuff like that. Besides, he was making a mockery of every student in this class by picking on me. I couldn't let it stand. Just something that I do." _Not to mention he was ridiculing me for no reason, _Harry added spitefully in his mind.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief, "I can't believe you ended up in Slytherin. With a personality like that you should've been in Gryffindor with Ron and I. Such a waste. Anyway, let's get onto the brewing, I've been looking forward to this class all day!"

The potion that they had to make was one to cure boils. Snape assured everyone that it was simple. Harry wasn't so sure. Hermione seemed to follow the instructions well. Harry gave Draco and Neville a curious glance and wasn't surprised to see that Draco had become to leader in the pair. Harry was very aware of the fact Draco had a good memory and in Potions a good memory was a must. As he watched he realised that Snape was hovering around both Draco and himself. Harry didn't know what to make of it. Maybe Snape just didn't like him. But what had Harry done to deserve this hate? Other than, of course, being a pathetic excuse for the Boy Who Lived.

"Harry, are you paying attention? You have to remember to swirl counter-clockwise, alright?" Hermione asked ask as she began to turn the temperature down and took the cauldron off the fire.

Harry nodded blankly, vaguely listening to her warnings. Snape had taken Draco aside and they were discussing something with great intent. Harry placed in the stirring rod and began to stir, counter-clockwise, like Hermione had instructed as she poured in the porcupine quills. Neville was nervously tottering to and fro, unsure of what he should do with himself. He seemed to find the instructions and followed it down the page with his pointed finger. Glad that the boy had found something to do, Harry watched his friend and his professor talk.

Still stirring the now finished potion which was cooling, Harry glanced over to check on Neville. He only caught the sight and could just watch in dismay as he began to add the porcupine quills, they spilled into the brew, spattering everywhere. A noxious gas began to fill the room as the acid poured over the floor, covering poor Neville in painful-looking boils. He let out a whimper and curled himself into a ball. In the middle of the acid. The rest of the class watched in shock. Harry felt himself reacting before he could think.

He stripped off his robe and threw it on the ground to soak up the rest of the concoction and then, with a quick snap of his arm, brought his own potion from the cauldron and poured it onto Neville. As a hiss filled the room followed by mist playing joyfully in air, the boils went considerably down, some even disappearing completely and Snape finally flew into action. Harry let out a sigh of relief and fell back into his chair. When he looked up he saw that everyone was looking at him in disbelief. Harry looked for Draco, who had his thinking face on. Harry felt like shrinking into a ball and rolling out of the room.

Snape had helped up Neville and was telling one of the other Gryffindors to help him to sickbay. When Neville had left the room, Snape also turned his gaze to Harry, "May I ask, Potter, what do you think you were doing?"

"I was helping Neville, sir." Harry replied, now a little bit uncertain.

"What would you have done if you hadn't mixed the potion correctly and had instead added to the boy's symptoms?" asked the professor, coldly, calmly.

"But it wasn't, sir."

"And it had been?" insisted Snape.

"I don't know, sir."

"You _don't _know," Severus re-iterated.

"No, sir."

"Slytherin has lost another point to your carelessness, Potter," stated the man as a matter of fact as he waved his wand and cleared the spill, drying Harry's robe in the process, "Don't play the hero, if you don't know the consequences."

It seemed more like a warning than a threat, but Harry didn't mind. Snape obviously had some reason to dislike Harry. Harry had yet to discover it, but he found he wanted to know why such an adult hated him as much as Snape did. Hermione sat by him in silence and he noticed that the red-head, Ron, was in the room and he was also staring at Harry.

The brunette didn't like the attention and was glad when the class was dismissed early. Harry wallowed in the wrongness of what he had done. Draco, finally walking next to Harry when they strode out, raised a questioning eyebrow, "What did you do to make Snape loathe you so much?"

Harry shrugged and instead commented rather snidely, "I thought that's what _you_ were talking to him about before."

"He wouldn't tell me. Besides, it's not like you actually _lost _any points this class…" Draco muttered, trying his hardest to cheer up Harry without actually knowing how to cheer anyone.

The familiar sound of a strangled hoot sounded and Harry's face lit up, "Cautela!"

He was wondering where his _hunt figura _had disappeared off to and now here it was. Draco eyed the white owl sceptically, "That's not really an owl, is it?"

Harry, shocked by the statement, turned to look at him as Cautela landed gracefully on Harry's shoulder, "What makes you say that?"

"The way it sounds. No owl sounds like that. What is it?"

"What's your parent's social group?" asked Harry right back, feeling indignant about all the untold truths they held between them.

"Point taken. I'll find out what it is eventually, you know."

"As will I," Harry replied just as confidently as he stroked Cautela under his beak. It let out a pleased trill. Harry smiled almost instinctively and then he noticed the small note tucked in between the creature's claws. He held out hand and Cautela dropped the message, looking at Harry with gratitude. It didn't want to hold it any longer – that was sure.

Thankfully, the beast kept its shape as it launched itself off Harry's arm and flew away. Harry didn't want to give any clues away to Draco just yet, as long as Draco wasn't going to forthcoming with information of his own. Harry unfolded the note and read it carefully.

_Dear Harry,_

_Would you like to have a cup of tea with me at around midday? I want to hear all about your first day!_

_Hagrid._

Harry smiled at the message and folded it back up. He placed it into his pocket and turned to Draco, "Do you want to grab some tea with me?"

Draco shrugged, still slightly put off by the facts that Harry with-held, "As long as its good quality."

After getting directions from a prefect they mad their way across the grounds to Hagrid's small wooden house at the edge of the Forbidden Forrest. Surprisingly, a cross bow and a pair of large boots were on the front porch. Harry knocked three times on the door. Frantic scratching on the other side of the door took the two boys off guard and they backed away cautiously.

Hagrid's voice sounded from inside, "Fang, get back!"

The giant's head peaked through a crack as the door opened slightly, "'Arry! You're here."

"Hang on," he stomped his foot on the floor, making something whimper and then he opened the door completely, "Welcome to my 'umble abode."

And humble it was. Just a simple single room was all it was. But it had a warmth about it that Slytherin common room lacked. Harry and Draco stumbled in. Harry gestured to Draco and introduced him. Draco _attempted _a friendly smile, but regrettably failed – it was as if he'd had no practice at it.

Hagrid poured some water into the cauldron above the fireplace. Harry reckoned that it was the pot that Hagrid was to make the tea in. Draco would be very disappointed, by the looks of it. Harry glanced over to look at Draco and check his reactions, but Fang – one of the largest dogs Harry had ever seen in his life - seemed to enjoy the boy's smell and was sniffing him rather closely. Harry didn't even try to hide the smile that crept up on his face. Draco scowled at him.

As they waited for the tea to boil Harry informed Hagrid of what had occurred on his first day. Hagrid seemed to quietly take it all in and Draco cut in a few times to add his own view. Hagrid didn't seem to _mind _Draco, but if Harry was one to judge Hagrid didn't exactly _like _him either. _It seemed no one really did_, Harry thought sadly to himself.

"He didn't like me at _all_," Harry finished with.

"Rubbish, why wouldn't he?" Hagrid asked, getting up to check the tea.

There was a sort of hesitation in Hagrid's reply that made Harry think he was hiding something. Something important. It seemed that whenever one of Harry's question caught some one off guard they paused. It was something he'd have to learn to check himself on. Maybe it was something that Hagrid was sworn to keep secret, Harry couldn't think of reason why he wouldn't tell him. Draco met his eyes and Harry raised a questioning eyebrow; Draco shrugged in response. It seemed as if the blonde had picked up on it as well. It _wasn't_ only Harry's imagination.

In the silence that followed Harry's eyes wandered the room until they came across a newspaper. Unsurprisingly, even the pictures on the front of it moved. The words from Draco that previous morning popped into his head, _"Any decent wizard enchants their portraits." _

Harry wondered if one day that would be the same for him. His gaze trailed over the text, not really focusing onto anything on the newspaper until he landed upon a word which drew his attention fully.

_GRINGOTT'S BREAK-IN LATEST_

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on the 31__st__ of July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins insist that nothing had been taken. The vault in question had been in fact emptied the same day._

Harry's eyes widened. That was the same day that they had entered vault seven hundred and thirteen. Was the thing that the thieves had tried to steal the very same thing that Hagrid had picked up? He didn't want to ask Hagrid. He was obviously having difficulty keeping wraps on his knowledge about Snape, let alone the knowledge about the small package he had taken from that vault.

After finishing their tea with some polite conversation Harry felt somewhat disturbed when he said goodbye to Hagrid. He turned to Draco and began to talk about what had happened on the 31st of July. As Draco listened his eyes grew narrower and narrower. And then Harry proposed his own theory on what had taken place, "Did you think the thieves meant to take it?"

Draco smirked, "Of course! It can't be a coincidence, but do you know what was in the vault?"

Harry shook his head, a frown forming on his face. Draco followed after him as they made their way to their dormitory and perhaps a shower. Draco was tired from their long first day at school and hanging around Harry who seemed to be the eye of a storm wasn't making his life any easier.

Draco suppressed a sigh. _I have to start sculpting him or father will be less than impressed. _

That night after dinner Draco's family owl slinked into their dorm window and left a message on top Draco's pillow. When everyone retired to sleep and after saying their goodnights Draco flicked open the envelope. With a single candle still alight Draco was forced to squint at the paper as he unfolded it.

_Dear Draco,_

_I trust that your first day in Hogwarts has been acceptable. Snape should be keeping an eye on you, like I have contacted him to. From my sources I've heard that you are playing Potter's friend surprisingly well – just remember not to become your character. Though I don't doubt your sincerity to my plotting I would like you to send me weekly reviews of what you have begun to teach him._

_Yours carefully, _

_Lucius Malfoy._

When Draco finished reading it he scrunched it into a ball. Then, opening the window he placed both the candle and message outside. Draco watched in grim satisfaction as the note caught fire and the smoke dwindled to nothing in the soft cool night winds outside.

When the only thing left was a smouldering corner Draco let the fingers of wind tear it from his hands and mindlessly observed it spiral away. He let out a quiet sigh and then threw himself into bed. His father's warnings were very important. Not only did they tell him what to do they also told him what not to do.

"From my sources" – meant that he had others watching him. Not only Snape. It meant he now had to convincingly act like a person acting to be someone's friend, whilst in reality was already said person's friend. It was an annoying thing to admit. Draco already considered Harry to be his _real _friend. And manipulating him from here on in would be just as hard, whether this had happened or not.

He snorted at his stupidity as he began to drift off to sleep. His father's warning about not becoming his character had come dreadfully late. He'd already fallen into the trap in Madam Malkin's Robes, but he hadn't realised it then.

_Bloody Potter and his blatant honesty and trustingness, _Draco cursed mentally as sleep took him.

(_And this is my shout out, peoples! AliensWhoLikeHP – Look, I updated just for you! :P Johnny-on-the-spot – Yes, indeed, it does. Potterdownthestreet – Aww, thankies! Claire – Thank you as well. I love getting people's responses. LoireLoa – I hope my private message answered any questions you had. :D And also to MadRiddler who reviewed _long _before everyone else; just THANKS. Thank you guys for reading – it makes my day knowing that all the effort I put in could amuse some people. :D)_


	5. The Forbidden Forest

_(I don't really have much to say here. Just thanks for reading and that I've moved a few things around so the story flows better with the plot I've chosen. By the way, this is going to be, perhaps, the longest chapter I've written – so bear with me, alright? Oh, yeah, since the formatting on here doesn't allow for double-enters, I found it hard to separate total parts of the story. So, wherever you see a capitalised word at the start of a new line, just assume there was a time skip.) _

**CHAPTER FIVE: THE FORBIDDEN FOREST**

The week went by slowly as Harry achingly memorised the pathways to each class, not relying upon Draco's knowledge to get him food in the morning. Which he was grateful for – it gave him some room to breathe away from the cloying atmosphere that now surrounded them both. The day after visiting Hagrid they had fallen into an argument about something senseless – Draco had informed Harry of the meaning of mudblood. During the heated conversation, Draco had constantly asked about Cautela, but Harry had refused to mention anything at all. The same could be said when Harry questioned Draco about his parents' social group. Neither wanted to budge. And as such a great tension built up between them, almost palpable.

Even when they sat together for meals, class or spare time neither spoke to each other, because they both knew the first things they would say. Both the young wizards had taken to staring blankly, but, at the same time, intently at each other. Draco was exasperated, but also amused by Harry's antics. He wasn't going to willingly give up this fight, but he also knew that if Harry didn't mention anything about his creature first he'd have to give. He could feel the invisible pressure of his father's influence around him – either Harry gave up soon or he'd have to, for the sake of pre-tense. By the determined look which shone in Harry's emerald green eyes it didn't look as though he was going to be giving up any time soon.

It was a tiring week for Harry, one in which he found he actually didn't have any time to worry about all his doubts, but instead thought about all his current failings. When he saw the notice that the Slytherin and Gryffindor first years were learning to fly together he was overjoyed. Out of the things they were expected to learn, flying was the one which stood out the most to him.

During the week, unbeknownst to his closest friend, Harry had been talking casually amongst the first year Slytherins hoping to gain some knowledge of the "social group". However, whenever Harry drifted into any of their conversations the directions of their talk immediately changed. Harry grew frustrated with the lack of trust that his fellow peers put in him. It didn't help that at the back of Harry's mind he knew he was pretty much betraying any trust they had of him in the first place, with him snooping around and all.

By the time of their flying lessons, the boxed in aggravations and unsaid words finally exploded as their silent argument came to a head. They stood glaring at each other from the edge of their brooms; the long sticks ending with a big ball of brush lying as boundaries between them. Hermione stood next to Harry and Ron was positioned next to her. It was odd that Ron was always near Hermione. Maybe the boy had a crush on her? Or maybe it was because Hermione was the only person who'd willingly go near Draco in an attempt to be near Harry and Ron clung to that so he wouldn't look like some mad avenger stalking Malfoy. _Poor Ron; he'd gotten on the bad side of Draco as soon as he'd met him_, thought Harry, _And now he couldn't think of anything else._

Harry knew there would be words spoken during this class; bottled and rather angry words. And, well, he didn't want that. He'd been practically dying from the lack of communication between the two of them. Cautela, who had – for some reason or another – taken to an owl form didn't hang around enough to comfort Harry properly. He'd been miserable all week. He knew by the way Draco and himself were glaring at each other that this would either end badly or horribly. And Harry wouldn't be able to take losing a friend. So, he chose an alternate solution to make sure the wick wouldn't be lit for the explosion.

Ignore Draco.

If it were possible for a more back-firing and less thought out plan than that, even Merlin wouldn't know of it. Harry, who had suddenly _stopped _glaring at Draco, swapped his attention to Hermione. The poor girl practically flowered under any sort of interest, as if she had been starved of it. Draco, of course, instantly noticed and he watched as the Hermione said something and Harry smiled in response.

A selfish and rather possessive spark set fire to Draco's blood. First, they only acknowledged each other's presence coldly and now, _this_? Harry was _ignoring _him? That dull, easily impressed, stupid, too trusting, idiotically brave, unwaveringly honest and closest friend Draco had _ever _had was _ignoring _him? Draco heard his blood pounding through his ears as a type of anger, he never knew he could be affected by, took him over.

_Harry is _my _friend. _It was jealousy and Draco knew it with startling clarity. Even though he'd never been affected by it, he knew what it was.

He wanted to _hurt _Hermione. No… he just wanted to hurt _someone. _It didn't even _matter _who it was. There was a pain in Draco and he wanted to quench it with someone else's pain, maybe it would douse it. It didn't matter if it was physical pain or emotional – he just wanted someone to _hurt. _Did he want to hurt Harry? His eyes skimmed over to Harry, who was now laughing with Hermione.

Draco's rage flared. Yes. He wanted to hurt Harry, as well. Anything to kill the ache that Harry had intentionally or, most likely, unintentionally born in him. Nothing mattered to him in that moment of pure unadulterated pain and hate except making Harry pay. Not even the people watching. Not even his father's agents. Not even their _friendship_. He wanted Harry to hurt, so maybe he'd understand the pain that he was in.

But he was a Slytherin and Slytherins weren't physically violent, or very loud. They were cunning and they struck the nerves which hurt the most. What could hurt Harry as much as Draco was hurting now? Draco eyed the Boy Who Lived as he talked with more Gryffindors. A smile, not a smirk, of understanding crept onto his face. That was it. Of course.

He would destroy the friendships that Harry was creating. And as they positioned their hands above the brooms, as Madam Hooch instructed, Draco knew _exactly _what to do. It gradually built more and more detail – until it was a fully formed plan. Draco was so entwined with his own mind that when he muttered, "Up!" and the broom flew instantly into his hands he didn't even feel the usual tingle of self-pleasing achievement.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch, "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle," she reminded everyone, "Three… two… one…-"

Neville's disturbance actually fit nicely into Draco's plan. The chubby boy had been over-nervous and, as such, kicked off before the whistle even touched Madam Hooch's lips. And he kicked off hard. As he steadily began to rise in the air – ten feet, twenty feet – his face took on a sickly green colour. By the time he'd hit twenty-five feet he'd forgotten all about landing. Instead, he looked down and, as he noticed the tremendous height he was at, he began to sway from side to side – his eyes rolling up into his head.

Thirty feet. Forty feet. Still going up, up, up. Neville looked to almost be physically sick and, subconsciously, let go of his broom to cover his mouth. With nothing to keep him on, the young wizard fell, spiralling to what would've been his death hadn't Madam Hooch caught his fall with _ebullio_; an invisible bubble of air.

Unfortunately, the spell had one minor flaw. As Neville hit the air bubble at a speed of 56.5km/h he bounced right back off and – WHAM - hit the floor with a somewhat lessened impact, but still enough to fling him at least three metres away. He landed with a loud and ungainly thud, and a softer undertone of a crack echoed in the audience's ears. Neville's broom floated lazily away – dipping and rolling, until it came to halt just past where the first years stood.

For a second, the first years watched in silent shock as he rolled once, twice and then stopped - completely still. There was a held breath, unanimous among them, wondering – maybe, was he…? After an instant, which very well could've been forever for the bystanders, Neville finally moved and curled up into a ball, crying. Madam Hooch was immediately next to him, examining his body.

"Oh, dear. A broken wrist," she muttered, leaning over the boy, "Come on, boy, it's alright. Up you get."

Tears streaming down his portly face, his body shaking and his bottom lip quivering, he walked leaning against Madam Hooch. She was murmuring words of encouragement, her own face as white as Neville's. For a second, she swivelled her head around and eyed everyone.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing. You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'," then she stopped and put more support into Neville's limping frame, "Come on, dear."

No sooner were they gone, Draco put his plan into motion.

He smirked his amusement, "So, Potter, why didn't you stop him?"

People stopped their own talking to listen closer. A silence took the grounds as Draco and Harry became the centre of attention. Harry's mouth opened in shock. How was he meant to have stopped Neville? He'd known nothing about flying on brooms and he could've very well died in the attempt to catch him. _Was there something I could've done? Should I have done something? _Harry panicked inwardly. Draco felt complete satisfaction from the betrayal and confusion on Harry's face. Oh, yes, Harry would feel some pain.

"Did you just want to watch then, Potter? Were you laughing at him inside?"

Whisperings grew around Harry as the Gryffindors eyed him with something different in their gazes. Harry was at a loss at what to say. Why was Draco doing this? Draco continued, barely even giving Harry any time to think of a counter-argument.

"Were you thinking that he deserved it for the trouble he got you into in Potions class? We all saw how fast you moved then. You could've saved him this time too, you know." Draco mulled over, his voice pleasantly mellow.

The blonde approached Harry in slow, thoughtful steps, "Except… maybe you just didn't like him… that's it, isn't it? You didn't like poor Longbottom and he broke his wrist because of it."

The Gryffindors _had _been in the same Potions class and they had witnessed his incredibly quick reaction to what had happened there. People began to mutter under their breaths, talking to each other, giving each person next to them questioning glances – wondering if Draco was right. Some of them were beginning to be coerced.

Ron, who thought everything anyone said was legit, added, "Or maybe that was your plan all along, Potter. You saved Neville once, so everyone would believe you when you purposely let him get himself hurt! Maybe Malfoy was right to befriend you. You're _meant _to be in Slytherin."

The Gryffindors, now persuaded by one of their own, took small, minute steps away from Harry.

Draco said one last thing which slammed everything into perspective, "Longbottom could've died, if it wasn't for Madam Hooch," and then, as if to clear things up, Draco said in his softest and most reverent tones, "Potter wanted Longbottom _dead_."

Hermione interjected, all too late, her arms flailing, "Guys, this is _ridiculous_. Harry would've saved him if he thought he could, right Harry?"

Harry wasn't listening by now. His mind was in a place of turmoil and doubt and self-loathing; of darkness, of a tunnel at night with no end. Had he ignored Neville's plight purposely? Was he to blame for Neville's broken wrist? He felt awful and guilty and smaller than a grain of sand. He wanted to melt away into nothing, so no one would look at him with those _judging _eyes anymore. Did Neville know? Would Neville hate him? Thoughts like these whirled around his mind as he stood there limply. However, most of all, through all of it, the undertone to everything in his brain, he felt betrayed. And that hurt the most.

Harry trained his eyes, which almost looked to be watering, onto Draco. Behind his glasses he was pleading, asking, begging to know, _why?_ Draco didn't answer, of course. He was still working his plan, mindlessly. He was still angry and jealous. Hermione had _still _come to Harry's defence; and that made Draco see _red._

Draco noticed a small object in the grass, and a smile grew on his face.

"Look, it's the remembrall that Longbottom got from his gran," the blonde said as he picked it up.

Draco held it up to the sun and the light shone through it; the scarlet smoke inside it whirling about wildly.

Harry's green sad eyes tuned in on it and he narrowed, finally gathering his thoughts. He would get the ball back for Neville. Maybe then Neville would forgive him. Harry held out his gloved hand, "Give it here, Malfoy."

Draco tilted his head, as if to think and then he smiled, "Do you really hate Longbottom so much that you want to _steal_ one of his most prized possessions?"

Ron shouted from the crowd, "Neville would rather lose it forever than let someone like a Slytherin take it!"

Hermione gave him a sharp look and hissed quietly at him, "What do you know what Neville wants?"

Ron shrugged, but the look in his eyes hardened, "Any Gryffindor would rather that. Are you trying to say Neville's not a real Gryffindor?"

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. Was she the only one seeing clearly here?

Draco's face lit up from Ron's suggestion and his eyes narrowed down onto the broom Neville had gone for a ride on, "Of course, Longbottom's a Gryffindor. I'm going to make sure Potter _never _gets his hands on this."

He sauntered over to it, tasting the attention of everyone's eyes on him. Even Harry's. Draco didn't care that Harry looked hurt, or betrayed. It didn't matter. There was _still _more to come. _This is what happens when you ignore a Malfoy, _Draco screeched in his head, continuing on his spiral of destruction.

Harry couldn't react. Anything he'd say, Draco would twist. Anything he'd do, Draco would counter-act. So, he stood and watched. The broom hovered next to Draco, raising and then lowering a few centimetres every few seconds. Grabbing the bushy end, he parted it and stuffed the small ball in. He gave the broom a shake and let out a satisfied sound when he realised it was secured.

Then, as everyone watched, he gave it a great whack. The broom flew forward at such a fast speed that it created a large gust of wind, tugging at everyone's robes. It was like a lightning bolt, darting through the air. If anyone had been on it, they would've surely broken their necks. Slowly, it disappeared into the trees of the Forbidden Forest. There was moment of dread. No one would ever get it back from there.

As Draco began to turn back around to take in the reactions of his audience his face met with a flying fist. It had been thrown forward as hard as it possibly could and it's owner watched in grim satisfaction as it made contact with the blonde's nose, slamming into Draco's face with such force that it caused the pale boy's head to be thrown backwards. Draco's nose spurted blood as he reeled from the hit, shock and pain sending his mind whirling.

He staggered a bit, but eventually found his footing. His mind felt light and fluffy and everything looked slightly tinged reddish pink. Draco met green eyes behind a wall of glass, the only clear thing in his vision. There was such anger inside the person who they belonged to that Draco almost felt like cowering. However, as he regained his mind and proper sight – he realised who it was.

Harry.

He'd never seen anyone this angry. Maybe it was the hit that made Draco see clear, through his jealousy, but he suddenly realised what he'd just done. He'd just… humiliated, taunted… _betrayed _his only friend. The person who had stuck with him _even _while they were fighting. The boy who often knew what he wanted to say without him saying it. Harry – the dullest, most easily impressed, stupidest, way too trusting, entirely too idiotically brave, unacceptably unwaveringly honest – was… hurting, because of him. The closest thing he'd ever come to a _true _bond. And he'd _just _broken that bond, without even a thought.

Draco cursed his own idiocy and his entire life. He'd never had anything that he could lose. It _always _stayed and belonged to him. And the foolishness of his own actions were finally catching up to him. He'd _lost _Harry. A large abyss formed at the centre of Draco's mind sucking away any happiness.

Harry stepped up to one of the brooms and Draco's eyes widened. _No, you've _got _to be _kidding _me, _Draco thought as he watched him mount it. He didn't care about hurting Harry anymore. In fact, he felt so bad that he wanted to kill himself. He didn't want Harry to look at him, because he knew he would be able to see the betrayal in his eyes. But he knew he had to stop his… not friend, he couldn't claim that title anymore, his fellow student.

Going into the Forbidden Forest alone would kill him! Worry for Harry completely took over Draco's body.

So, even though Draco's nose was throbbing with pain and he couldn't bear to look into Harry's eyes he brought a hand down on Harry's robes and gripped with all his might. Harry was blinded by anger and injustice. He _needed _to get back Neville's remembrall. And that was the only thing that mattered. He kicked off, and he realised he was weighed down - only just noticing that Draco was holding onto him.

As Harry moved forward, Draco felt his feet fall under him, slipping along the grass, the only thing keeping him there was his will, "Potter, stop. You're _going _to get yourself killed."

The brunette glanced down at Draco as they began to lift into the air, his eyes fiery with anger, "What do you care, Malfoy? You just about… destroyed me out there."

Draco took a deep breath, something he found hard with the grass creating heat and friction under his stomach. Then he looked straight into Harry's eyes. Draco looked into the pain he created and hoped desperately that his next sentence would make through all of Harry's swirling emotions, "I… I'm sorry… Harry."

The broom stopped and Draco was flung forward. He landed on his front, giving him grass lacerations all up his stomach. He had failed… Harry was going to _die _and it was going to all Draco's fault. He slammed a self-disgusted fist into the ground, killing the grass underneath. Draco could _feel _the tears forming in his eyes. He laid there for a moment, wallowing in his misery – wondering how he could live with himself after all he'd done.

"Are you _crying_, Malfoy?" came a voice that Draco thought he was imagining.

The blonde twisted his head over his shoulder and saw Harry standing there, a hand held out, waiting for Draco to take it. And the git was _smiling. _Draco wiped at his face, trying to hide the single tear which managed to escape, as he sat up. Relief flushed through him like great gust of wind and he felt so much lighter, just _seeing _Harry standing in front of him. Also, disbelief shrouded up in his mind. Maybe he was in a coma; no one forgave someone that easily. You'd have to be a naïve idiot to immediately excuse Draco's previous behaviour. _Or…_ Draco thought with a shake of his head, _You'd have to be Harry Potter._

Draco reached out and Harry gripped his hand, pulling the blonde wizard up. Their gazes met and Draco felt like fleeing from the warmth that shone from Harry's emerald eyes. How could someone be so… _nice _after what Draco had done? The seed in Draco's mind shot out a tiny sprout, reaching for the warmth. Harry actually smirked at him.

"Not so tidy now, Malfoy, are you?" quipped Harry, eyeing the grass-stained blonde, whose hair was splayed in every direction, blood now dried on his face.

Draco had no words to respond. He was still in shock. Harry was alive. And he didn't hate him. Dare he think it? Could they still be _friends? _Draco didn't understand – he was still so confused. He cast Harry a questioning glance, one Draco was afraid Harry wouldn't answer. Instead, Harry's warmth dulled ever so slightly.

He began, "After you apologised I realised that there had to be some reason behind your actions. Maybe wrong, maybe right, I don't really care and you don't need to explain. We both acted like complete jerks… well, you more so than me. I know an apology isn't going to fix everything you did today, but I like to see the bright side of things."

"What could possibly be _bright _about this situation?" asked Draco asked darkly.

"Well, for one I got to punch the living daylights from your vain, self-righteous head," Harry said with a brief flash of amusement, then he continued in a more solemn tone, "Two, I've realised who my real friends are. And three," he gave Draco one of the brightest grins he'd ever seen, "You called me by my first name. Does your naivety know no bounds, _Draco_?"

Draco felt his cheeks grow hot and a sudden thought rushed through his mind. _We're still friends. _It was amazing how honestly wonderful it felt to think that. At that moment in time he didn't care that Harry was mocking him. He didn't care that it was customary for given names to only be used by purebloods that were completely familiar with each other. He was so happy that Draco almost felt like hugging Harry. Almost. However, Malfoy's were never very physically affectionate.

Harry let out a small chuckle, "You totally weren't expecting me to hit you. Ahh, good times. Come on, _Draco. _I want to go see Neville at lunch. I need to tell him that I'll be returning his remembrall tomorrow."

"_What?" _exclaimed Draco.

"Tonight, I'm going to the Forbidden Forest to get it and _you're _coming with me."

"Says who?" Draco retorted.

"Says the friend who's forgiven you for backstabbing him."

Draco was silent and then he let out a defeated, "Fine."

Harry grinned at him and they walked back to a frantically talking Hermione who wanted to know what happened. They both only gave her an odd glance as if to say, "What do you mean?" She let out a frustrated screech and then sighed, "I'll never understand either of you."

Ron muttered snidely behind her, "You wouldn't want to either, Hermione. They're Slytherins."

She turned her fiery gaze onto the red-head, "And you! Of all the stupidest, most idiotic and foolish things to do I can't believe that-"

Harry and Draco were glad they weren't the subject of her wrath when they walked away at the end of class.

NEVILLE seemed to be quite accepting of the situation, much to Harry's disbelief. Here, the young wizard thought that Neville would hate him utterly. Even though he had come to realise he wasn't the reason that Neville had fallen, he still thought the boy would blame him… for some strange reason. He was moderately comforted to know that Neville didn't even think that Harry could've done anything to help him.

Draco who come to visit Neville only because Harry had guilted him into it, murmured something vague which sounded almost like an apology for practically throwing away his remembrall. Neville looked shocked by the admission of guilt and asked if he were dreaming.

Harry grinned and said, "No, Neville. By the way, I'm going to get your remembrall back, alright?"

Neville smiled back, his face still a sickly green, "I should've known I wasn't dreaming. Not even in my wildest dreams would I have dreamt of Draco apologising to me. I'm not going ask how you're going to get it back, Harry. So that when I do get it back and I tell people I don't know how I got it I won't be lying. Thanks, Harry."

LATER that night, Draco turned to Harry as they snuck from their dorm, "What's the plan?"

Harry shrugged. Draco's eyes widened in alarm, "You _haven't _got a plan?"

"I was going to play it by ear."

"In the middle of a forest where things can eat you and no one would ever_ know_?"

"Yeah," Harry replied as a small moth buzzed in front of his face. He waved his hand around, trying to shoo it away.

"That's a great plan, Potter."

"Harry. You're to call me Harry. And I told you… I didn't have a plan," Harry flashed a grin at him.

"I don't know how I let you drag me into this, _Harry," _Draco sighed.

"You betrayed me," he paused and glanced back at the blonde, "Remember?"

Draco was silent for a second before remarking snidely, "That's not going to work forever, you know."

"I'm going to squeeze as much juice from it while it does," Harry smirked.

They had made their way out of the castle and were crossing the school grounds to the Forbidden Forest. Until finally, they stood at the edge of it; the tips of their boots just crossing in no-man's land. It looked grossly huge. Bigger than anything Harry had ever seen before. It even put Hogwarts to shame. The dark woods didn't look inviting; in fact the winds that whistled through seemed threatening, whispering promises of death and pain. The roots of the massive trees formed ungainly shapes and the dead bushes, leafless, quivered with what could've been dangerous beasts, but was most likely the cold, crisp wind. Vine, like tendrils, hung down from the trees and were haphazardly strewn about as though they themselves were lost. It was a haunting image. Harry was glad the moon was full; otherwise they'd be stumbling around blind. It was bad enough that just looking into the forest sent chills going up and down his back, with no light they might as well have given up to fear itself

Draco, however, didn't find the moon as reassuring as Harry did, "Werewolves will be out tonight."

"That's ridiculous, Draco. There's no such thing as-," Harry was cut off by a loud waning howl, its location unknown except for somewhere in the forest.

Harry took a deep breath, ignoring the sound and stepped forward. Draco followed after, not willing to be left behind after he'd come so far. As they intruded further and further into the forest, it seemed to come alive with sounds. A branch snapping here, causing the boys to swivel around to identify its origin; a whisper there, giving the boys a sickly feelings in their guts. By the time they figured out they were lost, their hearts were thundering and sweat clung to their bodies.

With no way of knowing which way was back and which forward, they continued to walk. Deeper and deeper into the unexplored depths of the woods. It felt like forever until they finally came across anything. Draco had discovered it; in fact, he had literally stepped into it. It was a puddle of silver-blue liquid. It seemed to almost glow in the moon's light.

Harry knelt next to it and examined it closely; a strange scent sprung up to his nose and scowled, "It smells like candy musk."

"You think it tastes like it too?" the blonde asked, giving it an odd stare.

"You're not honestly thinking of eating it, are you?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "_I _wasn't going to. I thought maybe I'd bottle some and send it to my father."

"Bottle it with what?" asked Harry, vaguely annoyed.

Draco pulled a small container from his robes and smirked at his friend, "I thought maybe Neville's remembrall might've shattered from the ride it went on. We'd been taking him back nothing if it had, so I brought this."

Harry had to admit that Draco did think ahead a lot, "Smart."

"Well, I am a Malfoy," he replied, in a matter of fact voice.

Harry rolled his eyes as Draco bent down and scooped some of the liquid up. When it was half full Draco pushed on the lid. Harry, who'd been silent through this procedure, was squinting into the close distance. He was frowning. Draco put the container back into his robe pocket and asked, "What is it?"

"I think… there's more of it. Like a trail."

"Well, we're not going to get out of here by standing still, we've nothing to lose if we follow it," Draco muttered harshly back.

The blue-silvery liquid was flecked in little dots every now and again, only lit up by rays of moonlight. They both had to keep their eyes focused on the ground lest they lose the most recent found one and start all over again. The two boys, who'd been walking side by side, split up when they came across a mossy tree stump. The sound of something slivering over the floor and crunching through the dead leaves made them stopped completely in their tracks. Draco and Harry traded concerned glances – each horrified that they'd be discovered by whatever it was. The noise eventually drew further and further away and they both began to breathe again.

Draco swallowed, "If we die, I'm blaming you."

Harry shot a shaky smile at him, "I agree, I'll be fully liable for both our deaths."

Then they continued to follow the little flecks of silver. Harry heard the sound of water trickling somewhere and began to take cautious steps. He didn't want to fall into a brook in this weather and die from pneumonia, of all things. He knew he was being paranoid, but it was the safest thing he could think of. Another moth flew around Harry's face and he fluttered it away. Out of the things to annoy him, the moth was doing a good job.

"Do you think the thing we heard was a centaur? I've heard they live in here."

Harry snorted, "Did it sound like hooves to you?"

Draco was silent after that, trying to remember the sound and imagine a beast to match it. The minutes dragged by as they continued with the little blue-grey clues. The sounds of the forest still gave them sudden peaks of adrenaline and fear, only for them to turn around and find nothing there, except maybe the moth that had taken a liking to Harry. The trees seemed denser as they walked and Harry could've sworn that the spots of the silver were turning into dribbles. There was a rather huge puddle of the liquid at the base of an oak tree. Through the mangled roots of the tree, Harry spotted a clearing, where something shined.

"Look –," he murmured, holding out a hand to stop Draco.

It shone in the midnight light, gleaming white. The two boys approached it cautiously, Draco only a few steps behind.

Harry felt both incredibly sad, but in awe. In front of him lay a dying unicorn, in the final throes of its life. Harry alone watched as it twitched once, twice, before the light faded from its beautifully intelligent and deep eyes, leaving nothing but dullness behind. Draco arrived next to Harry only to see the remains – a dead and soulless carcass. The unicorn's death was the most depressing thing Harry had ever seen. A grief like nothing he had ever felt before took hold of him. Harry wanted to do nothing more than walk over and press his face up against the unicorn's cheek and mourn. Watching a unicorn die usually drove men mad. Many had taken their own lives from the heartache they felt at seeing something so miraculous suddenly depart from this world. However, these men were not Harry Potter. Even though all he wanted to do was leave the world behind like the unicorn had, he stood his ground and just breathed.

Harry could tell from the position of its slender legs and sweat glistening on its body that it hadn't died of old age. Draco swallowed and pointed to the blood that dripped from its wounds, hidden by a mane of pure white silk.

The blood was blue-silver in colour and shone in the moonlight. Harry froze in thought… they'd been following a trail of its blood. Which meant that whatever had inflicted those wounds must've been stalking it, maybe moments before them. It would explain the slithering noise they'd heard. As Harry was about to say something to Draco a sound echoed in his ears.

It was the sound that they'd frozen at both. Harry felt as if he couldn't breathe and neither could Draco. A creature, covered by a cloak, crawled along the ground, and approached the unicorn's body. When it reached the body, it lowered its head to wound and then, with sickening slurping noises, began to suck the unicorn's blood.

Harry, thinking it hadn't noticed them, let out his breath. It snapped up its head and with the silvery blue liquid dribbling down its cloak, swiftly moved towards Harry. He wasn't even completely sure the figure walked. Harry was frozen with fear – he'd found his limbs had locked in place. Harry found once again he couldn't breathe.

Then a pain, so sharp and powerful, hit him. It felt like his scar was on fire, but there was nothing that was burning it. Hissing with pain, he staggered backwards, half-blinded and he got twisted on the roots. Draco, who was also frozen, wasn't of much help. Harry knew with certainty that he would've died then.

If it weren't for Cautela.

Cautela, transformed from his small moth form, into something that vaguely resembled a miniature centaur. He cantered forward, digging into the leafy ground with its hooves. With a rather loud yell, it screamed in oddly soothing notes from high to low again and then hit a piercingly high note which caused the figure before them to cringe. When Cautela finished its song, the figure swiped at it, causing the poor creature to be thrown violently against the tree trunk. The _hunt figura _fell to the floor with a sickening crunch – defeated.

The few moments that Cautela had given were crucial. Harry, through the pain, managed to scramble up and shake Draco. They were about to run, when something jumped clear over their heads. Hooves, again, galloping towards the figure. The pain abruptly increased in Harry's scare, causing him to lose strength in his legs and he fell to his knees. Frantically, Draco attempted to drag him away, but it didn't work.

Harry blacked out.

WHEN he came to, he realised he was sitting on something warm, which appeared to be rippling underneath him. Startled, Harry sat up and almost fell off the centaur. Only the arm that Draco had snaked out caught him. Harry blinked and rubbed at his eyes. He was vaguely aware of a weight in his lap.

Cautela. The very thing which had saved his life. Harry felt tears form at the corner of his eyes as he reached a shaking hand to the creature's mangled body. It had chosen its favoured form, the one it had been in the whole time Harry had been at the Dursley's. In response to his owner's touch, he cracked an eye open and let out a small trill. Harry patted it softly under its neck and nearly shouted out in alarm as the _hunt figura _coughed out green blood. Draco placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, "He'll be alright."

Harry glanced back and nodded, hoping, praying. He swallowed his dark outlook and spoke to the centaur, "What was that?"

The centaur looked young, from what Harry could judge and had white blonde hair with pale sapphire eyes. He had a palomino coat and wiry muscles. He didn't look threatening, but then again… you couldn't really trust anything in the Forbidden Forest.

"You are the Potter boy," he said; voice clear, "I'm taking you to the one known as Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time – especially for you. You are lucky your friend let out a centaur warning call."

Harry glanced down affectionately at Cautela and gingerly placed a hand on the creature's body. Not only had it saved his life, it had called for help as well. Harry felt hit bottom lip quiver and he bit it to stop any tears from falling. He was so _proud _of Cautela.

"My name is Firenze."

They were all silent as they made their way through the thick woods. Eventually, the trees grew less dense. The thundering of hooves broke out somewhere in the distance and grew louder and louder. Harry and Draco shared a worried glance as two more centaurs burst from nearby trees. They were breathing hard and their bodies gleamed heavy with sweat.

"Firenze!" shouted one of them, "You have _humans_ on your back. Have you no shame? Do you think of our race as common mules?"

"Do you realise who this is?" Firenze asked, "Bane, it is best this boy be away from the forest. The quicker, the better."

Bane, the one that was shouting, gazed coolly at Harry and Draco, then down at Cautela. His inhumanly green eyes widened, "This has been read in the heavens, and we've sworn not to go against them."

The other centaur spoke, his voice somewhat shaky, "I'm sure he was only thinking of what was best, Bane."

Bane reared and spun at him, "_Best, _Ronan? What is that to do with us? We only react to what has been foretold. We do not, under any circumstance, become common donkeys only fit to give rides to stray humans in our forest."

Firenze pawed at the ground, his eyes aflame with anger, "The unicorns have been slain, as was foretold. I pit myself against the slayer. If I need to be allied alongside humans for this, then so be it."

Harry kept a tight hand on Cautela as Firenze spun violently and sped off into the forest. Draco quickly wrapped his hands around Harry's waist and Harry grabbed the centaur's mane with his free hand. He'd had no idea what had happened and he felt it would be disrespectful to ask. From the looks of it, Firenze had angered some of his elders. After a while, Firenze slowed to a walk. Harry checked to see if Cautela was still breathing. With a relieved sigh, Harry found that he was.

Abruptly Firenze spoke, "Do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

Harry swallowed guiltily and wondered if he knew they were harbouring some of their own, albeit accidentally, "No. I've only ever used hair in Potions."

"That is because it is a monstrous thing to slay a unicorn," Firenze spat, "Only someone who has nothing to lose would commit such an atrocity. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You would have slain something so innocent, pure and defenceless to save yourself that afterwards, you will have a half-life. A cursed life. From the moment their blood touches your lips."

Harry stared at the back of the centaur's head, thinking. What sort of being would ever do anything like that? He turned to look at Draco, but the blonde shook his head. If he did know, he obviously was not willing to share. An epiphany struck Harry. What if all the things that Draco refused to talk about were connected? Like his parents' social group and the attack on the unicorn… No, he couldn't believe that even relations of Draco would sink to such low levels.

During his ponderings, Harry hadn't noticed the edge of the forest slowing creep up to them. In what seemed only like moments they were going to be out of the cursed place. They stopped just short of the grassy clearings, staying hidden among the woods. Broken out thought, Harry gazed around curiously.

"This is where I leave you, Harry Potter," Firenze said, "The stars have been read wrongly before; let us hope we were wrong once again."

Draco slid off the centaur's back first and carefully, Harry handed Cautela down to Draco. Draco held him like Cautela like he was the most delicate and important thing on the planet. As the young wizard jumped down he turned and smiled softly at Firenze, "I thank you with all my heart, Firenze. Without you, we'd be dead."

Firenze met Harry with a solemn gaze, "Pray that the stars have been read wrongly."

And then the centaur disappeared back into the forest, leaving nothing in his wake except memories. Harry held out his arms and Draco placed Cautela into them. Harry watched his feet as stepped, just in case he was tangled in the last remaining roots. It was then he saw something. He began to laugh madly and Draco shot him a concerned look. He bent over and pulled the object from the roots of the closest tree. Draco saw it and darkened.

Harry placed the remembrall into his robe. He cradled the _hunt figura _close to his chest and turned to Draco, "Should we go to Hagrid?"

"If we do, we'll be in a lot of trouble," Draco replied, cautiously.

Hagrid, as man who loved magical animals, would surely know how to help Cautela. Also, Harry felt as if he could trust the man. According to him, Hagrid had known him since he was a baby.

"But if we don't," they both gazed at the creature Harry held and as if sensing the attention, Cautela squawked and green blood dribbled out of his mouth. There wasn't really any option. They were going to Hagrid's. Harry wrapped his friend in the folds of his robes and then, they strode, with purpose to Hagrid's wooden house.

HAGRID heard the knocking on the door and he moaned to himself, "Who in carnation is awake at this unwizardly time of the night?"

Pulling on a nightcap, Hagrid dragged himself up from bed and trudged over to the door. He grumbled, "This better be important or I'm going to be seriously – ," as the door swung open to reveal the forms of Harry and Draco he stopped talking and glanced around cautiously, before letting them in.

"What are you boys doing up? You'll get yourselves a detention for sure!" Hagrid growled at them, tearing off his nightcap.

Harry was silent as he unravelled his robe and showed Hagrid the state of Cautela. The giant's gaze grew grim and solemn, as he eyed the two boys, "I'm not going to ask what happened. I figure you two won't tell me either, but I have to know, how did Cautela get hurt?"

The young wizards swapped glances and Harry spoke, "He was flung at a tree, Hagrid. Is there anything you can do?"

The hope is Harry's voice was small, but Hagrid felt horribly guilty when he crushed it, "Shape-shifting creatures are out of my books. They change too much. Only masters of creatures like Cautela could help you now."

Draco, who couldn't bear the absolute sadness which was threatening to break out on Harry's face, pleaded, "Please, Hagrid. Is there anyone you know who's _had _a creature like Cautela?"

Hagrid was about to flat out refuse the boy, but then he stopped, and scratched at his beard thoughtfully, "Maybe… just maybe. If I tell you this, you'll have to promise me you will keep it a secret. Do you both swear to?"

Harry and Draco nodded frantically as Cautela began to wheeze. Hagrid let out a heavy sigh, "I've been sworn to secrecy on this before I'd even known what I was doing, but I was once contacted by one of the professors to buy them a _hunt figura._ Of course, being the humble giant that I am, I got them one and asked no questions. A few years later I asked the said professor if it had settled. Harry, you know what I mean."

Harry nodded, "You were wondering if it took it turned into its adult form – _forma statuam_."

The giant let out a breath and paused, as if wondering how to tell the eleven year olds this, then he continued, "The professor proceeded to tell me that he'd no idea what I was talking about and walked away. It was only a few months back that I'd realised what had happened."

The boys leaned forward in anticipation and Hagrid answered their pleading gazes, "The professor had used it in potions."

Harry spat out, "Professor Snape?"

"I confronted him at the start of this year, demanding to know if he'd done so, but he just glared at me and walked away. I can only assume the worst, you know…" Hagrid trailed off with a depressed sigh, "I sent a poor defenceless creature to its death."

There was a silence in the room as the two boys took this in. Harry took a deep breath, "We've got to see Snape, then."

Draco started, "Are you _mad, _Harry? Didn't you just _hear _what Hagrid told us? Snape'll turn Cautela into a brew!"

Harry looked Draco hard in the eye, "If he used the parts of a _hunt figura, _he'll know how to best treat one to best get the appropriate yield."

"But _Harry-_" Draco protested, his shark-skin eyes wide with worry.

"I'm going, even if you're not, _Malfoy,_" his mouth slathered the last word with loathing and a strong defiance.

Draco glared at his friend and then nodded sharply, "I'm going back to the dorms them. I bid you both, good night!"

Then the young blonde stood and walked out of the room, slammed the door shut and left Harry and Hagrid alone. The sound of the door shutting echoed around Hagrid's small room. It only just occurred to Harry that Draco now knew an untold truth from Harry, but Harry didn't know one from Draco. As Cautela stirred and whimpered in pain, Harry instantly forgot the thought. Time was running out.

Harry looked at Hagrid and Hagrid looked at Harry. With no words between them, Hagrid gingerly picked up the _hunt figura, _wrapped him some soft material and dutifully handed him to Harry. The spark in Hagrid's eyes wished Harry luck as he accepted the young creature and headed out.

Harry's eyes narrowed in determination as he cradled Cautela to his chest and walked to meet a man who hated him.

IT was luck that Harry stumbled upon Professor Snape's room. He'd had no guidance and only the fiery burning to see Cautela well again had aided him there. When he knocked on the door there was no answer. So, he knocked again and again and again. There was still no reply.

Harry knocked as hard as he could and as fast as he could, until his knuckles were bleeding and he knew he could knock no longer. Finally, just as Harry was about to give up something stirred on the other side of the door.

"Stop that infernal rattling," came a voice, obviously weary and definitely belonging to Snape.

Harry looked down at the face of Cautela and knocked again just as the door swung open. Snape scowled as he realised who was at his door. Snape was not a person who was used to being woken up at midnight. His black hair fell all over his face, and bags dredged under his dark eyes. He wore simple black pyjamas.

"Potter, I've half a mind to take a hundred points off Slytherin for this immensely disrespectful behaviour. This had better be important," Snape said, coldly.

Harry proffered the prone form of Cautela to Snape. The professor gazed down ever so slightly, then his eyes flicked back up to meet the extremely concerned eyes of Harry, "Come in."

Harry hustled into Snape's room. It was a lot smaller than he had assumed _any _professor's room should be. And it was cluttered with papers and books and little notes, pinned here and there. Snape waved his wand at the lamps in the room and they flickered to life, small flames dancing.

"Sit," commanded Snape as he gestured with his wand at a stool.

Harry was no position to argue, so he sat on it and waited. The black haired man dragged a chair from only Merlin knows where and sat opposing Harry.

Snape leant forward and commanded, "Give me the creature."

Harry hesitated. He couldn't tell what Snape was thinking. For a second, Harry was having doubts, but then he steeled himself. If he didn't give Cautela over than the he would die anyway. Snape was the only representation of a chance that Cautela might live. Swallowing down his uncertainties, Harry handed the dying _hunt figura _to Snape.

The professor sat it on his lap and gazed at it, like it was some sort of museum piece. Harry felt rage grow inside him, but he waited, as patiently as he could while Cautela's life hung in danger. Snape flicked his unwavering dark gaze to Harry, "Your pet has internal bleeding. I can do nothing for it. Unless you wish to do me a favour."

The rage inside Harry bubbled up. A favour owed to Snape? It was like _asking_ for someone to take your soul. But Cautela's life hung in the balance and Harry could do nothing… The young wizard met Snape's and nodded once. Snape sniffed and then slid a ring, the one Harry had noticed in his first Potions class, off his finger. The ring was shaped like a snake, coiled up.

"My favour is this – you're to _never _speak about anything that happens now on in until you leave this room."

Harry nodded his agreement. He was going blindly into this, but nothing mattered as long as Cautela survived. Snape eyed him carefully and then raised the ring to his mouth. He blew into the centre of it and Harry watched in amazement as it came alive.

"Hagrid must've informed you of this particular bit of information," Snape remarked snidely.

Harry started. And then suddenly everything connected. Snape had _kept _his _hunt figura _and it _had _settled into a _forma statuam. _Why he'd never informed Hagrid of this Harry wasn't sure.

"You didn't use it potions?" Harry asked, mindlessly.

Snape shot him a violently insulted look, "An _intelligent _creature like a _forma statuam_? Never. If it hadn't reached my expectations," the snake hissed at him as it curled around his hand, "then I would've. However, I did keep, Modus. Now, if you would be so kind as to shut your mouth, he can begin helping your pet."

"How?"

Snape shot his an exasperated look and then explained, "The nature of all _Nummulariorum_, the root name of yours and mine both, is that they stem from the same family, everywhere. Any shape shifting animal has the ability to merge with other shape shifters."

"What will that do to Cautela?" asked Harry, cautiously.

"Who knows? I've a theory it'll heal your pet, but I have been known to be wrong on rare ocassions," Snape admited admissively.

Harry replied impatiently, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"Nothing, Modus begun as soon as I awakened him. He spoke with Cautela beforehand, obviously. Now, Potter, are going to tell me where your pet got injured, or I am going to have to rip it from your mind?" Snape posed the question, almost pleasantly.

Harry had no choice in the matter and thinking carefully about what he selected, he explained what had happened. When he had finished he asked, "Will Cautela be alright?"

Snape didn't reply immediately, "Your story sounds too crazy to be made up. So, it must be true. If you hadn't seen me tonight, Potter, Cautela would've died – that I can assure you. The figure you met in the woods is a creature of dark, powerful magic and you can be certain that the strike that your pet received was nothing short of fatal. It's beyond my knowledge why it survived as long as it did."

Harry swallowed, "If I had died tonight instead of Cautela getting injured, sir, what would've happened to him?"

Snape obviously find the question insightful enough to answer, "Usually, when the master of a creature such as ours die, the creature will die along with it. Unless, the bond is only young, both will die. I've only come across one rare circumstance where the creature survived," Snape took a breath, "It was once a normal dog in its _forma statuam _settlement, but after it's master died it began to mutate rapidly as the master's soul no longer reflected the image it needed to retain," Snape paused to think, but the continued on nonetheless, "I brought it in for examination and tried to make Modus contact it, but it had long since lost its mind to grief," he hesitated, but once again went on, "To this day I still visit it every now and again and give it growth-cure potions to stop its mutation. Unforetunately, my potions came too late and by the time I'd discovered it, it'd grown two extra heads and was the size of a baby elephant."

Snape gave Harry a dark, threatening look, "So, Potter, I'd suggest you stay away from circumstance such as the one which occured tonight, unless you want your pet to suffer for your actions."

The warning Snape once said to Harry whispered in his mind, _"__Don't play the hero, if you don't know the consequences." _It was like Snape was constantly cautioning him about the same thing. Harry was silent for a moment as he mulled it over and then he spoke, "Is Cautela going to be alright?"

Snape let out a low sigh, "Potter, if you keep on asking I'm going to hex your mouth shut. Modus is working and he, like myself, does _not _like to be interrupted."

"Well, is he?"

"Yes. Modus has finished merging and has retracted himself. Your pet should be fine with a couple of days of sleep. Now, Potter, I'm giving you detention from here until Halloween. You'll be serving wherever I see fit. And _don't _even think about back-chatting – you've said you wouldn't speak to anyone about what happened here this night and I expect you to stick by you word. Unless it means nothing to you."

Snape leant towards Harry and placed Cautela back into Harry's lap. Grabbing him gently, he lifted the _hunt figura _and walked as swiftly as he could before exiting the room. As the door began to swing shut behind him, Harry turned and flashed one his brightest smiles at Snape, "Thank you, sir."

And then the door swung shut into his face, nearly taking off his nose.

The young wizard pulled his pet into a hug and smiled in relief as he saw that Cautela was now breathing evenly, thought softly. He let out a sigh and wandered back to the Slytherin dormitory. On a chair, he placed Cautela's sleeping form and fell into bed, completely exhausted. It had been one hell of a day.

He pulled the remembrall from his robe and frowned as the ball grew a cloudy scarlet.

He shrugged a vague sense of dread off and as he closed his eyes he fell asleep instantly.

SNAPE had nearly been blinded by the smile that Harry had given him. He wondered if Draco, who looked to be Harry's friend, ever felt the same. He let out a sigh and climbed back into bed. The night had been a lot more interesting than he'd intended it to be.

Snape closed his eyes, but found he couldn't sleep. He realised what had just occurred deserved more thought. He sat up and walked over to the only comfortable chair in the room. A single, suede chair with arm rests and recliner motion.

He fell into it with a dark expression on his face, as he began to brood. Snape made it part of himself never to believe gossip, but the more he thought about it and what Harry had explained – the more he'd come to realise that the rumours might very well hold some truth in them. Lucius had told him, but he hadn't believed it – he'd thought it was just a ploy to make He Who Must Not Be Named rise again.

Harry Potter _could _be the Next Dark Lord… Snape tapped his fingers together a smirk bloomed on his face as the next thought occurred to him.

_If he were manipulated to become one._

DEAR father,

I regret to inform you that Harry Potter is an obnoxious git. He didn't even bother listen to me when I tried to teach him that mudbloods were a lower form of life. We had a falling out the other day, but I appear to be in his good books again. Through a disastrous journey into the Forbidden Forest, I have discovered that Potter has an unrivalled attraction to deadly situations. He is also very stubborn and won't believe anything I say. I'm beginning to think that I'm fighting a losing battle in my attempt to sculpt him into the Next Dark Lord.

Please advise.

Yours genetically,

Draco Malfoy.

_DEAR son,_

_Snape has sent me a letter of interest and he has found new purpose to our cause. He should give you the help you so desperately need. If Potter proceeds to be stubborn, explain to him that he has to know this information for the future should he ever face, Merlin forbid, He Who Must Not Be Named. I'm all too aware that shall never happen, however, it may and if my sources are dependable, then Potter has to accept this honest information._

_Yours demandingly,_

_Lucius Malfoy._

_(Anyway, YAY to Madriddler who has once again decided to grace my presence with their wonderful reviews! Also, SEE, Cyera – I've written more! Inats92 – Thanks! I like to know people think it's intriguing. It really makes my day. Oh, yeah, guys – I TOTALLY did the math behind Neville's fall. See? I'm not only good at writing.)_


	6. Halloween

_(Oh, yeah, guys, I'm going to start doing a parody version of little snapshots of this. It's going to be called Seventeen; Decisions? Too Many. Basically, if you think there's any part of this story where the Harry and Draco are interacting (also if your mind is in the gutter) and you get a fangirl (or boy, I don't judge) moment from something they do – put it into a review or PM. I'll write up a parody of the same situation, except that (for some reason, I'm not even going to explain) their going to be seventeen – instead of eleven – and they are going to act accordingly. So, don't feel afraid to include the stupidest little thing which made you SQUEE, because if you're a terribly perverted person, like I am, than you'll love it how every single snap shot will end with them making out. :D Also, shout outs, like usual, will be in after the chapter. __**WARNING: Character death.**__)_

**CHAPTER SIX: HALLOWEEN**

The day after Cautela was miraculously healed, Draco had been oddly silent. Though Harry was beginning to get used to his strange mood swings (which Draco had quite often, much to Harry's char-grin), this silence had been rather new to him. It began to annoy him when it carried on all day and into the next week.

He'd confronted Draco in their dorm before bed, after a week of him drifting off, a sullen expression on his face.

"Draco, why are you acting like this?"

The blonde only shrugged, and then cast Harry a venomous glare, "Why haven't you told me what happened _that _night?"

Harry bit his lip, trying to think of some way to answer, then he realised that he could answer by telling him everything that _didn't _happen in the room, "You know I went up to Snape's room last night. When I came out Cautela was fine. Cautela wasn't a brew. I have detention until Halloween. Fill in the blanks, Draco."

Draco frowned and thought for a second, "Snape must've healed Cautela, that's obvious," his gaze flung over to where the creature, in the form of a cat, was now pleasantly purring on its chair, "You're not telling me what happened, so Snape must've either threatened you to stay quiet, or being the idiot you are you _agreed _to stay silent."

"Hey, I resent that," interjected Harry sharply, but with a playful look in his eyes, showing that Draco _was _in fact guessing correctly.

"I'm _never _going to know what happened in that room, am I?" Draco asked in a dejected tone, but continued with his assumptions, "Snape gave you detentions obviously because you were out of your room after curfew. Any teacher'd do that. The question is – did you tell Snape what happened before you went in there?"

"Let _me _ask you a question. Can Snape enter someone's thoughts?" asked Harry, with a sly raise of his left eyebrow.

"So, what you're not saying is that even if you didn't tell him, he would've read your mind."

Draco sat in silence and mulled it over. Harry smiled at him, "Pretty easy, wasn't it?"

"What?"

"To stop sulking and actually ask questions."

"I wasn't _sulking, _I was…"

Harry glanced over him with an expression that told him to just _try _and continue that sentence. Draco couldn't, but wouldn't admit that he'd been sulking. It wasn't a Slytherin-ish thing to do. Nor was it anything any Malfoy would be caught doing… ever. Draco hid a scowl, "I was thinking."

Harry snorted at him and they'd fallen back into their regular, friendly mocking of each other. The whole term had basically consisted of Harry listening to Draco and Snape, falling into bed tired and pulling magical pranks on his fellow Slytherins. Who, indeed, paid him back in turn. He'd once found an illusion of spiders crawling through his bed after sleeping in. He'd never discovered who'd done it too him, but whoever it was he'd got them back by _leaving _an illusion of cockroaches in everyone's bed – including the girls'. High-pitched screaming filled the dorm that day. Draco, who'd been in on the prank, swapped cheerful all-knowing smirks with Harry all day.

Surprisingly, the term flew by without much occurring. Classes were actually beginning to become fun, which worried Harry a little. By the day of Halloween, signalling the last day Harry had detention with Snape, Harry had managed to transfigure his match into a needle and secretly – he'd turned Draco's left sock into a scarf, which Harry wore around his neck, quite proudly. He'd also remembered at least five different ways to make a potion to give someone he disliked a bad case of verbal diarrhoea, made to spout the very first things which came into their mind.

However, the most amazing thing Harry had found was his natural love for flying. It was such a thrill to be out in the air, flying with the wind playing in his hair and the ground rushing under him, darting to and fro – the sudden turns making his heart palpate like mad. Draco, who wasn't such a natural, only watched from lower altitudes and took note of the joy on Harry's face as he dipped and dived – much to the objections from Madam Hooch. When their weekly classes were over Harry was always disappointed to leave the wind which always seemed to caress him lovingly.

During the term, Harry was made to serve detentions in the oddest of places. Snape was often there to observe that Harry was going about his business properly. The brunette couldn't even hazard a guess as to why. Sometimes, Snape would interrupt and abruptly explain some odd mechanics of what Harry was doing, but then just as quickly step away. One such instance was when Harry had been ordered to sort out the books in the _Restricted Section. _

Snape stopped him from opening one and informed him that, "There _is_ a reason this section is titled so, Potter. If you were to open that book dark sorcery would befoul you. Of course, that may not always be a bad thing."

Harry had wondered vacantly if Snape were referring to himself. Odd enough, Draco accompanied him on the detentions, out of guilt Harry imagined. For if Draco _had _gone with Harry on the night he would've gotten the detention too. The day that Draco turned up Snape had just given him an accepting nod and seemed to not even be at all bothered that Draco hovered around them, even at the darkest times of night.

Just like Snape, Draco would suddenly spurt out bits of random information. Harry began to remember both the professor's and his friend's words, which started to worry him, before he ignored the strange sense of dread he'd feel building up inside him. One of the weirdest things he'd remembered Draco telling him was when he'd been force to bury a dead class mascot and it was that, "Life isn't something which has limit, Harry. The animal did not have to die; it died because it was weak." Harry _didn't _even know what the man was talking about, but he'd been vaguely reminded of Firenze's speech about unicorn blood.

The _last _day of his entire regime for detentions Harry had noticed Ron being amazingly obnoxious towards poor Hermione. They'd chosen each other as partners for Potions, well, Ron had immediately latched onto her arm; it hadn't been a very mutual decision. She shot Harry a pained expression which Harry could only mouth back with, "Good luck".

Today, they were making something known as Rainbow Juice; said to put to sleep any creature in the world – hence the name rainbow, taking on all the spectrums of life. (After examining its ingredients Harry found that it was only a variation of the Draught of the Living Dead.) Many of the people in class had laughed when Snape actually said the name of the concoction and lost a total of twenty points each; luckily only one had been in Slytherin. But Harry was sure by the look Draco gave the boy, Zabini (Harry recalled), the matter was far from over with his fellow peers.

The potions had steadily got more complicated during the term and Harry found that Snape, instead of directing every question first at him, now spread the complex asking equally around the room. Harry had taken minimal satisfaction from this, as now, everyone – still convinced he'd purposely broken Neville's wrist (much to Neville's and Hermione's protest) – glared at him, as if he'd made a contract with the professor to make the other's suffer. Harry didn't know why Snape had done this. Maybe the man had forgotten his hate for him. After all the time they'd been spending in each other's presence, maybe Snape had forgiven him for what he didn't know he'd done?

Harry shook his head as he focused on the potion. Snape, like Draco, was one person who'd he'd never be able to read. It didn't help that at any moment Snape could be stripping his mind bare without the littlest thing giving him away. Harry believed the threat that the professor had made many weeks ago in his room and he never wanted to have his personal life read in such an intruding, secretive manner. Still, Harry could not find it in him to entirely _distrust _the man, even though Draco had assured him that Snape was _not _a good person.

"Ron, you're _spilling _it all over me!" snapped Hermione's voice straight through Harry's thoughts.

"Fine! I'll take it away from you then, your majesty," retorted the red-head, his eyes flaming with anger.

Harry realised he hadn't been paying much attention to the Weasley for a while. It seemed whatever Hermione had said to him after their first flying class had kept him silent. He fought the urge to break out into a smile as he remembered the ripping into she'd begun to give him when they'd left for lunch. Whatever Hermione was, she wasn't docile and no matter what Draco said about muggle-borns, Hermione wasn't _anything_ like that. She had a mind, a sharp one, of her own and no stuck-up pureblood could say otherwise.

Harry found himself and everyone else looking up from their own brewing to watch as Ron walked haphazardly, his feet criss-crossing, giving him wobbly and almost swaying steps. You didn't have to be a fortune teller or even Professor Trawley to tell what would happen next. There hadn't been an accident since Neville's; everyone had been especially careful after that day. Odds were against him. Needless to explain, Ron fell – inelegantly, ungainly, rather gracelessly as well. As his feet folded beneath him and he let out a little gasp of shock, the cauldron in his hands was flung forwards, causing the Rainbow Juice inside to go flying, flying, flying.

It would've looked beautiful, the almost opaque liquid, arcing through the air, thin tendrils splayed around in various directions, had it not been for the fact the audience watching it was also going to be its victim. With a splash, the potion was suddenly all over Hermione. It completely drenched her from head to toe, giving her the rather undignified look of a drowned rat, but rather ironically taming her hair in the same fashion. Some of the liquid dribbled down her wet face and dripped once, twice onto the floor with barely audible _plops_.

Ron, who'd finally managed to gather his legs correctly underneath him, gazed upwards, his eyes wide and alert. Hermione's brown, hazel eyes sharpened for a moment; wrath almost inevitable, as she opened her mouth to begin, but stopped just short of screaming as the tiniest drop of the translucent liquid slipped onto her tongue and down her throat. Her eyes lost focus, pupils dilating randomly and she staggered sideways. Gripping the table with her last remaining strength, she managed to give Ron one of the nastiest looks Harry had ever seen. Then, her eyes rolling up into her head, she fell unconscious, slipping onto the floor, her robe flying up.

But that wasn't all. Fate had set out to humiliate poor Granger today and it wasn't finished. When Hermione fell and her robe flew up, the bottom edge of it ended over her face and the skirt she had worn underneath had flicked up as well. Her underwear, pink with frills, was on full display for everyone to see. And to believe it all happened within a few seconds.

Harry, who'd finally snapped out his own shock to react, raced to her side, flipped her robe back down and helped her up. His face was red, as was the majority of everyone else's in the room, bar the professor's – which Harry didn't find surprising. Ron's mouth was open; wide open, as he slowly came to grips with what had happened. He looked a little dazed as Harry began to make for the door, but was stopped.

Hermione was a dead-weight. Harry would need some help if he were going to get her to the hospital wing. He glanced at Draco, who had began to move again after Harry had, with a questioning gaze. The blonde looked like he was going to reject Harry's silent plea for help. After all, why should a pureblood _help _a mudblood? But with a roll of the pale boy's eyes he hastened to Harry's side and pulled one of Hermione's limp arms around his shoulders. However, he couldn't do it silently and felt the need to make at least one snide remark with a sniff of his nose, "She smells like wet dog."

Harry let out a sigh and followed Draco's suit, wrapping Hermione's other arm around his shoulder on the opposite side of her. As they began to exit the room, they came face to face with Snape. The black-haired man with the hooked nose gave them a hard glare. Harry would _never _know what the professor was thinking. Maybe he was going to suggest they stay to finish their class? Instead, Snape nodded his understanding and turned back to the remaining students.

"As you can see by the clumsy demonstration, Rainbow Juice is a very potent potion. It shouldn't have, however, been that strong, Weasley. I assume you didn't _bother _to strain the remaining wormwood infusion after you brewed it?"

Ron, who was still rather caught in past events, stuttered back, "I, uhh, y-yes. Probably, as y-you said, s-sir."

Harry and Draco traded smirks as they walked to the hospital wing, Hermione weighing unmercifully at their shoulders.

It was uncanny how many times they'd visited the hospital wing. They already knew their way there like the back of their hands. As this thought occurred to Draco he raised his free hand up, curiously, and gazed at it. _I didn't know I had a mole there_, the blonde thought absently. He mentally snorted his own opinion of that saying, _Pure folly._

Harry lifted a single mocking eyebrow at him, a sly smile on his face as they turned the last corner to the hospital wing. Draco scowled in response, slamming his arm back by his side – his face ever so slightly pink. Each step they took Hermione seemed to growing heavier and heavier and when they finally reached Madam Pomfrey, Draco made a rather fitting comment, "She must _eat _like a pig!"

Madam Pomfrey took one look at the drenched girl and then shot the two boys a suspicious look, "I'll have to change her immediately or she'll catch only Merlin knows what. I'm glad you both saw fit to bring her here, but you'd best run along."

Harry and Draco, having already seen Hermione's underwear, didn't want to see anymore and they fled from the wing as fast as their legs could carry them. When they were at least far away to breathe freely they traded embarrassed glances. Draco snorted at him, breathing hard, "I wouldn't have placed Hermione as the frills kind of girl."

The other young wizard burst out into laughter, before realising just how horrible he sounded, "Draco, stop talking about it! Hermione will _kill_ you if she knows. Let's, uhh, try to not mention it if we see her again, alright?"

Draco rolled his blue-silver eyes at Harry and sighed, "Fine, but she'll find out sooner or later."

"I'd rather later," Harry replied, rather solemnly.

There was a moment of silence as they walked, well more dawdled, their way back to Potions. Both had serious thinking faces on. Harry was biting his lip in concentration. The image of Hermione blacking out kept on running through his head.

Harry couldn't contain his feelings anymore and began to laugh so hard that his sides ached. Draco raised an eyebrow and Harry just couldn't stop. His eyes began to water and eventually he found he had to stop walking otherwise he'd fall over from laughing too much. The only word to explain his current actions was something he spat out through the laughter.

"FRILLS!"

Draco shook his head at his friend, but smiled nonetheless. Though the sprout in Draco's mind didn't grow, it sat their idling in the warmth, just enjoying the moment. Luckily, it was just small enough to not become a thought that drifted through his mind, but it was there – lying still and dormant. Waiting.

That day they didn't return to class and instead wagged. After all, who'd ever know that they didn't stay with Hermione? Apart from Madam Pomfrey. But then again, no one really listened to Madam Pomfrey.

THAT night the two went down to the dungeons for detention. It wasn't the dungeons where they had potions – it was the dungeons that were parallel to them, existing at the other side of Hogwarts, unused. Snape, who'd organised this, was already there, tapping his foot impatiently on the ground, a torch floating a foot above his head. As he saw them his eyes almost visibly brightened. Almost.

"Malfoy, Potter, I have other things to worry about tonight and I trust you two to be able to do such a menial chore by yourselves. You're to clean this chamber," he gave them a sharp glare, "Properly, mind you. If I find out that you've not done a correct job, I'll extend your detention… indefinitely."

And thus he strode off, the torch trailing behind him leaving Harry and Draco in the dark. Alone, in the middle of dungeons. If Draco had been able to see he would've noticed Harry's expression dim considerably. Draco uttered into the dark, to somehow break the silence which intensified the bleakness of the dark, "We've been in worse places, honestly, Harry."

Harry grinned into the blackness and cleared his throat, "_I've _been in worse places, Draco. I expect the worst place you've ever been was the Forbidden Forest."

Draco let out a hiss and then sighed, "Do you know any light spells?"

"If you'd been listening in Charms class, they taught us one last week," Harry fumbled through his robe for a second and then pulled out his wand.

With a crescent smooth wave of his wand, Harry continued, "_Lumos._"

The end of his wand lit up with a spectacular yellow glow, casting shadows all over the place; in fact, rather adding to the eeriness than reducing like the two boys had originally hoped.

Draco moaned, "Why did you even _remember _that charm? It'd be _so _useless if you'd have house elves to just light up the house torches," then, imitating Harry's previous movement, he muttered, "_Lumos."_

A light flickered momentarily at the point of his wand; dull, bluish in colour and very faint, but then immediately splattered out of existence. Draco hoped it was dark enough that Harry couldn't see the pink which now tinged his cheeks. _Perhaps _he should've been listening that particular charms class. Harry grinned at Draco, somewhat wolfishly, the shadows making his face almost threatening.

"Don't worry about it. I'll show you the proper movements later. For now, just look for some place where I can put it," Harry replied, already eyeing the room for a suitable position.

"There," pointed Draco.

His finger was aimed at a rather large bookcase. Harry smiled and walked over to it. He gazed at it for a second. Then his eyebrows furrowed. The young wizard turned to Draco and asked, "Did you hear something?"

Draco raised a mocking, thin eyebrow, "Paranoid, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed, "Give me a lift up. I can't get to the top myself."

"Didn't we learn a levitation spell the other day?" Draco asked, trying to squirm his way out of physical labour.

"Yes, we did. Yesterday. I've only got the basics on the movements memorised, let alone the correct way to intone the words. Now come here and help me up, unless you want me to practise on you," Harry uttered in sharp, but playful tones – his green eyes twinkling with mischief.

With sluggish movements Draco dragged himself toward the other boy and scowled, "How am I going to help?"

"I was thinking of standing on your back."

"Very funny, Harry."

"I'm not joking, Draco."

Outrage flew across the blonde's pale face. It was one of the only times Harry could read him; when he took him completely off guard. Even though he was enjoying the indignation play over Draco's face Harry couldn't shake off the sound he'd thought he'd heard. It sounded almost like someone breathing. Harry was snapped out his thoughts by Draco, who'd settled down, and without even Harry noticing had knelt onto his knees.

"I refuse to let you _walk _all over me, but you _can _sit on my shoulders. I'll raise you up like that."

Harry gave him a dubious glance, "Are you sure you'll be able to stand with my weight?"

Draco scowled, inwardly extremely insulted that Harry was questioning his physical fitness, in fact assuming he was _weak_, "I'm eleven, Harry, not five. I know what I can handle."

Harry shrugged, then made his way towards Draco and placed his wand, horizontally into mouth, gripping it with his teeth, the shining end almost blinding him. Then, carefully, he raised one leg up and lowered it onto Draco's shoulder, followed quickly by his other leg. Draco let out a huff of air as Harry's full weight fell entirely on his shoulders. The blonde gripped at Harry's legs and then took a deep breath.

"Are you alright, Draco?" Harry asked, muffled by the wand in his mouth.

Without replying Draco stood straight up in a burst of concentrated effort. For a second, Harry felt like he was a giant, bedazzled by his sudden height, but then he realised he could _feel _Draco straining underneath him. Harry stared at the bookcase in dismay as he stretched a hand out – they were too far away.

He informed Draco of this and added, "Put me down and we'll try again."

Draco scowled and replied, "I'm _not _lifting you up again. You weigh a _tonne_. I won't be able to pick you up again."

He could feel his own muscles beginning to seize up, but he gazed stubbornly at bookcase. Harry suddenly realised what the pale boy was thinking, "No, Draco, don't you _dare _try walking towards it. You'll fall and then I'll fall and then we'll both find ourselves in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey giving us a lecture. Not to mention that we won't be able to clean the room! We'll… _I'll _have detention forever. Something I'd rather not have… Draco, are you listening to me?"

The blonde wasn't, he was gauging the distance between himself and the bookcase, wondering if he could make it without Harry's words becoming true. With his face setting with determination, he ground his teeth, looked up at Harry and said, "I'm going to walk there."

As Harry began to spout nonsense about how ridiculous Draco was acting, the blonde took his first step. Thankfully, there were only three more. Harry smacked Draco on the head, "Put me down!" Draco cordially ignored him and took his next one. His knees began to buckle and some sweat trickled down his face into his eye, causing him to squint.

"Draco, I swear to God that if you don't stop this stupid endeavour to prove your strength I won't talk to you for a week!" It was one of the only things Harry could threaten him with.

Draco ignored him and took another step. Harry, in a rather panicked state, stretched a frantic hand towards the bookcase, but found it just out of reach. He quickly glanced down at Draco, his eyes flaring with concern, and then finally Draco took the last step. Harry slammed his wand on top of the bookcase, which allowed the room to be considerably lit up. Then as quick as he could, using the bookcase as support, slipped off Draco's shoulders.

Draco was practically worn out and was letting out huffed breaths. Harry gazed at him before, cuffing him on Draco on the back of his head with his palm. The blonde shot Harry a startled glance only to find Harry glaring at him darkly, his glasses glinting almost threateningly in the magic light.

"What?" Draco asked, rubbing gingerly at his head.

"You're such a git!"

"_What?_" Draco found himself repeating, except louder, incredulously.

"You, Draco Malfoy, are perhaps one of the most self-absorbed, selfish people I have ever met."

"But your wand is where you wanted it…" Draco couldn't see why Harry was so mad; he'd gotten what he wanted, hadn't he?

"You idiot! That's not what I'm talking about. What if I had broken your back? Of if the bookcase had fallen onto us and squashed you? What if…" Harry trailed off as more horrible circumstances formed in his mind.

Draco found his mouth falling open. He discovered he couldn't talk for a second as his mind finally connected everything together. His shark-skin eyes wide in disbelief and his face set in an absolutely stunned expression. For a second he stayed silent trying to form a coherent sentence in his head to say out loud. Harry just stared at him, face clouded with anger and another emotion.

"You… you were _worried _about _me_?" Draco finally asked, the words forming horribly on his tongue, making his mouth feel fully of sticky honey.

It was Harry's turn to be shocked, "_Of course! _What do you think of me? You think just because I didn't grow up with parents that I wouldn't _care _about people?"

"You were worried about me." It wasn't a question this time.

It was a strangely comforting feeling. It felt like someone had covered him in feathers and placed a steamer underneath him. He felt the warmth, so soft and cushiony. Harry was still glaring at him. Draco had never had someone actually _worry _about him, like Harry had. A goofy grin broke out on Draco's face, but he managed to curb it into something more familiar, a smirk.

"I thought you said you weren't going to be talking to me for a week, Harry."

Harry scowled at him, but then let out a resigned sigh, as a smile, which he couldn't resist, formed on his face as well, "Well, if you had died I wouldn't be talking ever again. So, I'm just making up for potential lost time."

Draco snorted, "Whatever. Now – let's clean up this chamber."

The room now illuminated, they finally saw what they had to work with. The back of the space was completely cluttered. Some of bits and bobs sat onto of furniture at hazardous angles, and just from looking at it Harry could tell if he moved one object, without seeing to a bunch of others first, things would end in catastrophe. Draco's good mood dulled.

Harry muttered under his breath, "Menial chore? How is _this _a "menial chore"?"

Draco replied sullenly, "I'm sure Snape meant that it's a chore meant for the menial; like slaves or house elves."

MEANWHILE, at the Halloween feast Ron sat at the Gryffindor table picking at his meal with his fork. His red-head was perched limply on his left hand and he was staring mindlessly into nothing. He'd felt horrible about what he'd done in Potions. Hermione still hadn't shown up for the whole school meal and Ron felt like a complete jerk. As he thought about the events his face went a colour which matched his hair. _Everyone _had seen Hermione's underwear.

At eleven years of age, Ron had had his fair amount of immature crushes. Thinking back on them, some of them had been utterly ridiculous. But not Hermione. Sure, he always acted like a completely knob-head around her, but that was only because he felt like he had to… _be himself _around the person he liked. He could trust her to stay by his side, because they were good friends. Of course, Hermione knew nothing about the crush he harboured on her. They were only eleven and Ron didn't want to be teased mercilessly for the rest of his life at Hogwarts.

As soon as he'd become aware of his feelings for her, he'd kept them secret, but he promised himself, if he still liked her, one day he'd ask her to be his girlfriend. The word felt weird to think and Ron moved some peas around on his plate, wondering if Hermione was going to be joining him soon. After Harry and Draco had taken her to the hospital wing he hadn't seen her. His face scrunched up in anger as he thought about the Slytherin pair. Why Hermione seemed to like Harry he'd never know.

From what he'd seen Harry was practically evil; befriending a Malfoy, being put into Slytherin, breaking Neville's wrist, making Professor Snape ask Gryffindors all the complicated questions. If that wasn't evil, he didn't know what was. As a whole group of first years burst out into laughter Ron was snapped from his angry thoughts. They seemed to laughing at the arrival of someone.

Ron arched his neck to see who it was. He felt extremely guilty when he realised it was Hermione. She was giving him the most horrible look. Like she wanted to see him die an extremely painful death. The worst thing was that Ron couldn't blame her. She had all the right in the world to be angry at him. He'd made her the laughing stock of the entire first years.

She placed herself right in front of Ron, her feet shoulder width apart, and propped her hands onto her waist. Then she stared straight at Ron.

"Well?"

Ron stuttered back, "Well w-what?"

"Are you going to apologise or am I going to have to hex your mouth shut until you find the words?" Hermione asked, her voice sharp – scathing even.

"I'm so-"

"It's Frilly! Look, Frilly's come back from the hospital wing!" shouted Seamus Finnegan.

Hermione frowned and tilted her head at a questioning angle towards Ron. Ron felt his face go red as he began to explain, "Well, when you fell-"

"That was skill, Weasley! I didn't think you the type to be flipping up girl's skirts. High-five!" Seamus continued as he sent a hand flying towards Ron.

Ron held up a hand in self defence and they clapped together. It seemed to trigger Hermione's quick thinking, as the sound echoed around them for a second, she linked everything together. Her face went crimson and her brown eyes widened in embarrassment. The look on her face was startling horrid. Little watery blobs began to form up in the corners of her eyes and Ron watched as she began to cry.

She screamed at him, her voice raw, "I hate you, Ron!"

Then clutching her face in her hands she ran to seek solace in the girls' bathroom. Seamus seemed unperturbed and began to dig into his meal with renewed gusto. Ron pushed his own plate out of the way at he gave himself some serious punishment – he banged his head onto the table. Once, twice, three times – accompanied with, "I'm such an idiot. An idiot. I'm a jerk and an idiot."

HARRY LET out a satisfied sigh, "Finally! We're done!"

The two boys gazed around the room, taking in their job. Everything had been placed appropriately around the room. They'd found some brooms in the pile and had swept the floor of cobwebs. In fact, now it looked practically liveable. There was even a _bed _there – made already, by Harry and Draco, of course.

Draco began to say something when an ear-splitting roar echoed behind him, somewhere not far off, but thankfully not to close either. The two boys exchanged glances. Whatever it was, it screamed again. Draco swallowed as loud heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. A patter of quick frantic steps were almost inaudible behind them. Harry snaked out an arm and dragged Draco over to the bed. He crouched down beside it and pulled the blonde down as well.

THE DOORS flung open creating an echoing thud as they slammed against the walls on each side. Ron watched in silent shock as Professor Quirrell sprinted through – terror etched onto his face, his turban slightly askew. When he reached the middle of the hall, he gazed up at the Headmaster and gasped, "Troll – troll in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

With the message sent, Quirrell's body went limp and he fell, in a dead faint, to the floor. The room erupted with screams.

DRACO felt an itch, crawl its way up his noise and he reached a finger up to scratch it. When he'd finally done so, he let out satisfied sigh. Harry snapped his pointing finger up to his lips, the universal sign for silence. Draco rolled his eyes. The sounds hadn't gotten any closer; in fact, it seemed that whatever it was – it was going round in circles. Harry had an impatient expression on his face. With the same finger, he gestured Draco closer until they were almost cheek to cheek.

Harry whispered in his most quiet voice, "What do you think it is?"

Draco thought for a second, "It's loud and stupid," as it steps echoed over to them, causing them to cringe, Draco added, "Heavy, as well."

Harry mulled over Draco's information. He went over all the possible magical creatures in his mind that fit some of the categories. Goblins? No, though they loud and could be heavy, they were very crafty. Giants? He thought of Hagrid momentarily, but shook his head. Giants were smarter than the thing in the dungeons. What could be stupider than a pure giant.

"Trolls," muttered Harry.

"What?"

"It's a troll."

"How are we supposed to defeat a troll?" asked Draco, anger working its way through his whispering to give them a sharp edge.

Harry shrugged and a smile formed on his face, "Play it by ear?"

"Do you realise what happened last time we followed that plan?" Draco hissed.

"I told you…" Harry began and with a sigh Draco ended it, "It's not a plan."

"Well, we can't just run up to it with our arms waving around like lunatics and hope it works," Draco muttered contemptuously.

"We can," Harry replied, getting into a sprinting position.

Draco's face went white, "Oh no. You've got to be kidding me. We're not actually going to-"

"One the count of three." – "No way, I'm not going." – "One." – "This is suicide." – "Two." – "We're going to die." – "Three." – "I can't believe I let you drag me into these things!"

Harry grabbed Draco's hand and they bolted for the stairs.

IT TOOK Dumbledore's amplified voice to calm the school down, "SILENCE! Everyone will please not panic! Now prefects please escort your house to the dormitories. Teachers will follow me to the dungeons."

Percy, the prefect of Gryffindor, thrived in these chaotic conditions, "Gryffindors, keep up, please and stay with me!"

As everyone clambered from their seats to follow their own prefect, Ron paused. Hermione. She didn't know! As they entered the entrance hall, Ron, with careful glances, snuck off from the rest of them. As the professors hurried by, to get to the dungeons, Ron held himself as tight as he could against the wall – in the shadows, of course.

"Where would Hermione go?" Ron asked himself.

"She wouldn't go to the dorms. She's too proud to let people see her cry. Somewhere she could hide, where people couldn't tease her… Where I couldn't go, of course…" he paused to think and then his eyes glinted with the answer, "Either the dungeons, cause she bloody knows I'm terrified of all the spiders in there and _no one'll _go down there… or the girls' toilets!"

As he quickly chose the closer one, he dashed off.

THEY HADN'T been expecting the troll to be just around the corner. It stood there, staring at the wall in confusion, as if it hadn't been there a second ago. Draco let out a little squeak, in surprise, and Harry felt him squeeze his hand, extremely hard – showing the fear which wasn't on his face. The troll turned to look at them. A foul stench assaulted their noses. Something like a mixture of urine, vomit and rotten eggs. Harry fought the urge to vomit as the troll took heavy steps towards them. It was a horrible sight – twelve feet tall, granite coloured skin which had odd little bumps all over it. Its bald head was tiny in comparison, sitting atop its body attached by a unseeable neck. The troll's legs were stout tree trunks, ending with flat feet. It arms, long and out of proportion, nearly dragged on the floor; a club situated in one hand.

As it came closer to them, it also came closer to their only escape – the stairs. Harry and Draco made a break for it, their feet pumping as fast as they could. The troll grunted its surprise at their speed and just as they darted up the stairs it slammed its club down, missing them by only about a centimetre. Their hearts beating a mile a minute, and sweat perspiring on their bodies, they ran and ran and ran.

RON CURSED. He'd forgotten the layout of the school. And now he was utterly lost. How was he going to warn Hermione, if he didn't even _know _where she was? The red-head let out a frustrated scream and walked down a corridor. The hall was silent for a moment and empty. After a few seconds, Ron arrived there again, but from a different direction.

He swore as he pulled at his hair.

DRACO AND Harry were still running for their lives. They couldn't believe they had dodged death by such a narrow measurement. Though they were running out of energy, they could still hear the troll following them up the stairs. And it sounded _angry._

Eventually, they came to the Great Hall and found it empty. They traded glances and Draco attempted an assumption, "They must've been warned. Everyone'll be up in their dorms already. We should head up too. The professors will take care of it."

Harry nodded and shivered involuntarily as the troll roared.

RON HEARD a most terrifying sound. It must've been the troll. _It's here… _He thought, in a panic, _And Hermione's in even more danger! _He hated his horrible memory. He hated himself. He hated that he'd embarrassed Hermione and put her in danger. Ron screamed out his hatred, something loud and vicious.

And tentative voice echoed from somewhere on his right, "Ron?"

HARRY AND Draco were heading up to the Slytherin dorm when they heard a scream; a human scream. They stopped, directly at the same time. Harry looked back and swallowed, "You don't think… someone's down there, do you?"

Draco shook his head quickly, too quickly. Harry took a deep breath, "You know, I'm probably going to regret this."

"You probably are," the blonde agreed, "So, don't do it."

Harry shook his head slowly and met Draco's eyes, "I can't leave someone like that. Not like… well, not like my parents left me. Whoever it is needs help and I'm going down there to help them."

Draco ground his teeth and suddenly realised they were still holding hands. He snapped his hand away, his face flushed from running turning a little pink, "You're crazy, Harry, but if you go alone you're going to die."

"Then I'll die," Harry replied, a simple as that.

"I said if you go alone. Come on. Before the person get's eaten."

And with that, the two young wizards went back to face their potential deaths.

"HERMIONE, IS that you?" yelled Ron approaching one of the rooms to his right.

"Ron? Why aren't you at the feast?" sniffed back a rather angry girl, her voice still some distance away.

The red-head walked towards the next room, "Never mind that, Hermione, we have to-" he was interrupted by loud heavy footsteps directly behind him.

It was the troll. And it had its club raised high.

THE TWO Slytherins turned the corner in time to see the club go down with a force no one could survive. The troll let out a triumphant grunt and then it sniffed cautiously into the air. As it moved, they were greeted with the sight of a fallen, mangled body on the ground, red liquid draining from the boy's head. The boy's brown eyes fluttered open, as he reached an arm, which sat at an awkward angle, into the room, but then stopped. Harry raised a hand to his mouth to stop the gasp from coming out.

Ron Weasley was, without a doubt, dead.

The troll strolled towards the room Ron had stretched towards and, stepping onto Ron's arm, entered.

"_ARGHHH_!" Screamed Hermione.

There was no time to mourn, ever though Harry felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach. Harry reacted immediately; he ran in after the troll and Draco followed. They arrived in time to see Hermione shrinking against the wall, her eyes red from crying now wide in fear. The troll was looking at her blankly, but then it raised its club. Harry wasn't going to let another person he knew die. As the troll bent its long arm backwards, readying itself for another shot, Harry did something idiotically brave. He jumped for the club.

Luckily, he managed to grab hold of it. The troll, confused by the sudden appearance of the boy, stared at him for a second. Then, deciding upon something, began to shake the club. Harry gripped on with all his might. And even that wasn't enough to hold him on; he was slipping. He was going to die.

Draco screamed, "Harry!"

As the troll spun around to look at Draco, Hermione stood and made a break for the nearest stall. A thought occurred to the monster and it gurgled its amusement. Raising both Harry and the club, he began to aim at the first stall. Draco immediately saw what as going to happen.

"Harry, jump!" the blonde shouted, spreading his arms out.

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Harry let go of the club and tumbled into Draco, which softened his impact. As they both struggled to get up, the club kept moving, eventually crashing into the first stall. Hermione's feet could be seen disappearing into the next one.

The troll, unaware of Harry's disappeared, brought his arm back for another smack. The next stall was destroyed. And the next, until there was only one left. Harry was thinking, thinking hard. In fact, he was biting his lip so hard that it was bleeding. Draco was breathing heavily, winded by Harry's fall, and was catching his breath.

Hermione's voice broke out through the loud grunts and smashing, "Harry, Draco! Use the levitation spell on the club!"

The two boys faces broke out in desperation, "What are the movements?"

"Swish and flick!" Hermione called out, as the troll raised its club once again.

Harry screamed and pulling out his wand did the correct gestures, "_Wingardium leviosa!_"

The club froze in midair, but the troll was having none of it. He began to pull it down with a childish stubbornness. To Harry's horror, it was moving down as well. Harry screeched at Draco, "You do it too!"

Draco froze, "I don't know how!"

"I just showed you!" Harry could feel his strength slipping, he'd never properly used the spell and it used a lot of one's reserved.

The blonde took a deep breath and then imitated Harry's movements, "_Wingardium leviosa!_"

The club was pulled free from its owners grasp and Harry let out a sigh of relief; the magic had been coursing through him, but now it had dulled to a trickle. Though the feeling was exhilarating, it tired him to the bone. The troll locked its vacant gaze on Harry and roared. As Harry met Draco's eyes he nodded and exactly the same time they lowered the wands – _pulling _the club towards the troll.

With a sickening crack it hit the monster's head and the troll's small beady eyes rolled up into its head. It swayed once, twice and fell to the ground with an echoing thud. After a few second, Hermione opened up the bathroom stall door and walked out, carefully stepping between broken bits of wood and metal.

"Where's Ron? I have to give him a piece of my mi-" she stopped as he searching gaze fell upon the limp body on the floor.

Her breathing slowed and she turned to Harry, "He's not… is he?"

Harry couldn't meet her gaze. Her bottom lip quivering, holding back tears, she slowly approached Ron's prone, still body. Then she fell to her knees in the puddle of blood; some flicked up and landed on her face. Ron's body was broken.

"Oh, Ron… I…" Hermione was at a loss for words, as tears began rolling down her cheeks.

For a second, a tiny bit of life fluttered in Ron's body, just enough so he could open his eyes and smiled his crooked smile at Hermione. Then he said something, so quiet that only Hermione could hear and as he closed his eyes for the last time Hermione cried openly. And she lay her body over his, clutching him in her arms. Her body shook with pain filled sobs, wracking her body as she cried out everything.

The two Slytherins stared at the scene. Harry felt his heart breaking. She looked up at them, her eyes red and her robes drenched with Ron's blood, tears streaking down her face, creating rivulets through the blood which had spattered on her face. Then she shared with them, his last words.

"He said he was sorry."

_(Gah, I'll close this up later – probably in the next chapter. I've stayed up way too long already. Inats92 – THANKS! Madriddler – I hope this bloody hell got me my 99 points back. And Claire – THANK YOU! OMG. I cried writing this. :'( Did anyone else cry reading it?)_


	7. Quidditch

_(I'm sorry to say – Ron is, without a doubt, dead. He's not coming back to life anytime soon. Also, I'm a little bit upset about the previous chapter. I planned it all along – ever since I wrote the warning of character deaths in the first chapter – but during the last chapter I actually got rather attached to the red-head. :'( Anyway, don't forget the parody I'm going to be doing. I'd like people's input on that. And we've reached the half-way mark on this story. Also, has anyone noticed a sudden RISE in the works that have Harry sorted into Slytherin… or is that just me?)_

**CHAPTER SEVEN: QUIDDITCH**

Guilt.

It was the only taste in Harry's mouth; the strangely metallic flavour heavily laden on his tongue – like lead which leeched the life out of everything that came into contact with his tastebuds. When Harry talked it weighed on every single one his words, autonomous monotone noises rolling out of his mouth, lacking any and every single emotion. It was the only sound in Harry's ears; a whirring, buzzing, hash – voices barely fighting through sounded like imagined whispers in the wind. It was the only colour Harry could see; gray, black – a colourless landscape. Every touch felt like it; dead-cold, clammy – the warmth of a sunrise long forgotten, the breeze of a gentle wind was now nothing more than a force to impound him. It encapsulated his existence.

Harry Potter was guilt incarnate.

As Harry walked mindlessly around Hogwarts, Draco never far from his side, thoughts rushed through his head. Damning, self-loathing thoughts. _I let Ron die. He died because I didn't stay on the ground floor. If I had stayed… Ron would be alive. Hermione hates me and she has every right too. I killed Ron through my actions… It's my entire fault. I should've died in Ron's place. I can't be the Boy Who Lived. My life is a lie. Everyone is right. I am the Next Dark Lord. _No emotion played on the usually readable face of the young wizard. He was dead to the world.

Draco could only watch as Harry condemned himself, as the brunette wouldn't listen to a thing he said. Hermione hadn't been much help either. She was, if it were possible, in a worse state - one of shock and denial. Oft times she turned her head to comment to someone who was no longer there. She still smiled at the invisible person and waited on a non-existent reply before continuing to talk. To Draco, who'd begun to actually _respect_ her intelligence, it was like slap to the face. He'd been right in his initial thoughts of mudbloods – they couldn't even handle minor trauma.

The blonde hadn't been so affected by the meaning of Weasley's death. It didn't matter to him; it was just one less red-head in the world. However, actually literally seeing the boy die in front of him made him feel… different. Sure, he known about death – the same way any child knew about it. But to _witness _death at work was something else entirely. Draco found himself afraid of his own feelings; not that he'd admit it. Death... made his mind race with questions he couldn't answer – not out of lack of trying, but because he found he just wasn't _old _enough to. And that infuriated him. So, instead of thinking of something that would only come with time he focused all his efforts and attention onto Harry. _I'm not running from my own problems, _reasoned the pale boy, _I'm incubating on them._

Harry had become, for no other words would fit, a mind-dead zombie. Snape had actually gone so far as to ban him from attending Potions, simply because he had failed at such a large number of brews that he would've been a hazard risk if he'd stayed. Snape was oddly snappish and he limped around, putting his pressure on one leg. Draco assumed he'd hurt it when moving the unconscious troll's body.

Harry was not, as perhaps a kind observer would note, graceful on the ground. In this barely-there state, he was horrifyingly less so. At any moment, Draco could turn back and find Harry sprawled on the floor. It didn't help that many Gryffindors, all idiotically naïve, blamed Harry for Ron's death and wanted to see him suffer for it – taking advantage of the way he was and aiding him in tripping with a precariously placed foot. Draco, fuming, usually hexed them with as many hexes he knew and then helped Harry up. It happened every day. Harry was beginning to get an assortment of bruises on the appendages he usually landed upon. What made Draco even angrier was that Harry didn't defend himself. Even if he _hadn't _been like he was he wouldn't have done much either.

A memory of the train ride echoed in his mind, _"Why do you take such a defensive position all the time, Malfoy?" _It grated on his nerves that thought. Always, Harry had such a twisted perspective of things. And as always, nothing Draco could do, would ever prepare him for the way the brunette reacted to things. Well, nothing short of reading his mind. _Hmmm, _the thought playing in the blonde's mind, _I could try that, but I don't think I'd manage to make much sense of anything in there…_

Harry's movements were flaccid, lifeless and the light that always shone in Harry's eyes was dead. Draco found himself talking to an empty shell most of the time. Even during flying classes the _old _Harry didn't stir. Madam Hooch had put a height and speed restriction on their brooms and going at such a slow pace would hardly wake Harry from his stupor. Draco had been watching Harry and during each of their theory classes he'd find Harry's book empty of words – Draco usually had to copy his own in. The blonde felt like he'd become a care taker of a particularly handicapped child. Harry wouldn't even _eat _without Draco literally shoving food down his throat.

He was beginning to get angry and impatient. It had been a week. A whole week and the _old _Harry wasn't back yet. The blonde thought he could be understanding, he thought he could be… Merlin forbid, _supportive _of Harry's plight, but the original shock effect was beginning to wear thin. And Draco wasn't going to continue to play this parenting game any longer. He'd held back his own selfish desire to see the _old_ Harry, to scream at him and then make up afterwards, to mock him and have him actually _react _with something just as cunning. He, personally, wanted the _old _Harry back. All the things he wanted were beginning to build against the damn wall he had placed there to stop them. It was starting to get to a point where if one more little thing happened, and added to the raging torrents pounding against the wall, it would burst and Draco would explode with everything he'd been suppressing. One more thing.

And Harry, without knowing it, supplied the last tally.

The last count happened one night. Almost at random. Draco had gone to sleep after ensuring that Harry had gotten into bed without somehow hurting himself. After sleeping for an undeterminable amount of time, Draco stirred from his slumber, hearing a strange noise. He'd woken up slowly, moaning about the sound and eventually sat up to rub at his weary eyes. With a stretched out yawn, he squinted into the room to see what the origin of the disturbance was. Draco was not a very happy person when woken up later than midnight.

As soon as the blonde realised the sounds were coming from Harry's bed, he'd bolted over. The quilt had been covering Harry's sleeping form, draped from his toes to the top of his head. Draco snaked out an arm and whipped the blanket off, his heart racing. What he saw was both shocking and depressing and it broke Draco's desire-wall like it was nothing more than a twig.

Harry was _crying _in his sleep.

It was one of the worst things the pale boy had ever seen in his life. Even worse than Ron's death. Even worse than what caused his deep-sleeps. Because Draco was _attached _to Harry. Draco found himself shocked to find he cared. Sure, he'd been _friends _with someone before, but he'd never usually _cared _about them. If they got hurt, Draco was only worried if they'd ever be back to listen to him talk. As Draco stared at the tear drops which slid down Harry's face, which was also etched with a morose, sickened expression, the blonde snapped. It wasn't the horrid sort of snapping he was used to – in fact, it was actually a healthier break down.

Something inside Draco's mind finally figured out what was wrong. He'd been acting like a Gryffindor. Being _supportive _and _understanding_? What sort of Slytherin _or _Malfoy did that? None. He realised why Harry hadn't been returning to normal – Draco had been pandering him! He'd been practically giving him his mark of approval by going along with Harry's mind-loss like this.

"I'm going to set this straight tomorrow, Harry, you'll see."

Draco, in a moment of pure affection, tucked his best friend back into bed and then a smirk crawled up onto his face. He'd missed this feeling of plotting, of planning – of actually doing something. A sentence Harry had said popped into his head as the details of a plan formed in his head, _"Pretty easy, wasn't it?"_

"Yes. Yes, it was," Draco muttered to himself; the smirk not disappearing off his face until he was all plotted out.

That night Draco had a simple dream. So simple, in fact, he'd not even realised he'd dreamt it. When we woke up in the morning it was just a memory. In fact, it was so uncomplicated Draco remembered it with ease, but subconsciously tossed it aside – it could've very well have been an old childhood memory.

The dream was thus: he'd won.

...

As soon as the sun clawed up over the horizon with its fiery talons of warmth, Draco was already putting his plan into action. He'd crept into the senior rooms and was silently stalking his way to one boy in particular. When he arrived there he stretched a hand out to hover over the sleeping boy's mouth. Inside his hand was his wand.

"_Umbrae__ obscura_," whispered the blonde.

He wondered if the older boy would stir, but was relieved when he found that he did not. Draco looked down at his handiwork. A black mask had slinked over the boy's face, making his features undeterminable. The boy would, of course, find that the mask was immovable, unless Draco wished otherwise – and seeing as Draco's victim wasn't even aware that the blonde was the culprit – he wouldn't be getting if off anytime soon. (Draco would never ever tell where he had learnt this particular spell from.)

Draco gave a simpering grin and walked, rather satisfied, to his bed. He glanced once at Harry, scowled, and then went to sleep.

...

That morning, when their school day officially began, there was an uproar in the Slytherin dormitory. Apparently, someone had snuck in and bewitched a rather popular boy in the third year cohort. Harry was still lost in his thoughts - which were beginning to get worse. Just a glimpse into his mind would reveal – _I hate myself. I killed Ron. I should've saved him. I couldn't because I'm weak. Too weak to be the Boy Who Lived. I'm weak and useless. I deserve everything everyone has done to me. That and more. _

Harry was starting to _look _ weak and frail. Every though Drao had been forcing Harry to eat, unbeknowst to him, the brunette hadn't been able to keep it down and it usually ended up in the sewers via a _flush._

It was a long day. A _very _long day. Well, at least to Draco Lucius Malfoy it was. He'd stopped just focusing on Potter and had instead begun to initialise his plan. He was starting to feel the tingling sensation of self-accomplishment under his skin. And it felt good.

Today, there was a Quidditch match. Of course, Harry had little knowledge of how Quidditch worked. The blonde was in no mood to humour him, either.

_Maybe, _Draco hoped, _this game would awake the _old _Harry._ If it didn't Draco would probably give up. If what he had planned didn't break through to Harry there would be nothing else to try. _Except, perhaps, making him witness another death. _However, that thought brought back too many questions that Draco couldn't answer until the moment was right. The blonde was sure that time wouldn't come for a while. But still, it caused Draco to think about it, almost concernedly.

"Harry, let's go wish the Slytherins luck before they go to play," Draco suggested, perhaps a bit too sweetly, but how was Harry to know? Harry was still… _gone_.

The brunette nodded, a vague acceptance of Draco's questioning statement. Draco resisted the urge to sneer at Harry's submissive blank state; hating what Harry had become.

_What if I wasn't so weak? What if I'd known a spell to save him? I'm weak and useless now, but… If I become stronger… No, that's impossible. I deserve to die._

Draco didn't even want to know what his companion was thinking. The hollow expression on his face could be hiding something so dark and forbidding that Draco didn't even want a hint of. He wondered for a second if Harry would ever be the same. Then the blonde shook his head clear of thought as he guided Harry to the _Change Rooms_. They arrived at exactly the right time, just as Draco had planned the night before. Everything was going just as he had designed.

The blonde gave Harry a quick glance. The brunette was wearing standard uniform, and, for reasons unknown to Malfoy, a scarf that he wrapped about his neck. Draco wondered absently why Harry seemed to wear it everyday (even in this zombie like state), but then he sharpened his mind back on track.

"Terrence, could we talk to you for a second?" Draco asked the last person in the room, a boy in third year.

He turned to face them and Draco smirked, his wand already out and the delicious taste of a spell on the tip of his tongue, "_Stupefy!_"

Terrence fell to the floor, his body rigid stiff. Harry did nothing. Draco cast him a disgusted look. If the _old _Harry had been awake, Draco would've, deservingly, gotten a severe verbal lashing and a promise that Harry wouldn't talk for him for a week, which he'd eventually break, because – that was the way they were.

Terrence Higgs was the Seeker of Slytherin. And he'd not found a way to remove the black mask Draco had hexed him with this morning. The blonde turned to Harry and with a large smile, not smirk, on his face, obviously taking a great amount of satisfaction and pleasure from what he was about to do.

"I'm sor… actually, you know what? I'm not really sorry at all. Believe it or not, but this is for you own good," Draco said and with a precise movement of his wand he pointed it directly at Harry's face, "_Umbrae__ obscura._"

A black goo-like substance formed on Harry's chin and slowly it slid up over the rest of his face. The young brunette boy didn't do anything to defend himself. It always managed to surprise Draco how Harry reacted to things. And lately, it had begun to infuriate Draco how _passive _he was. Had nothing Snape or himself said gotten through to Harry at all? The blonde let out an exasperated sigh.

"Now, to swap your robes."

Draco did said action and looked at the near culmination of his plotting; dressed like this Harry could've been the Seeker's mirror image. After all, without faces who could ever really tell? Sounds echoed down the hall way and, acting as quick as his eleven year old mind could, he threw a bunch of clothes onto the prone, unconscious form of Terrence Higgs. The rest of the Slytherin team had returned with scowls, "Oi, Terrence! What's taking you so long?" (They were addressing Harry.)

Draco realised he'd have to face the problem in his plan sooner or later; the fact that Harry wasn't going to be talking any time soon.

"I thought I'd found a way to get rid of his hex and he agreed to let me try it. It backfired and I think it's made him mute… and a little bit confused," Draco provided, as a way of explanation.

Some of the team smirked and one spoke up, "Serves you right, Ter. Were you so worried that people wouldn't see your face that you'd let a first year try at it?"

There were a few snickers all around and some mutterings of "vain" in the team. A teenager, probably fifth year, butted in and snarled, "You better hope the "fixing" didn't damage our Seeker, or you'll pay, first year."

Draco hated himself for it, but he played along with his innocent act and cowered, performing the Coward very well.

"It's not like Ter had the brightest _lumos _to begin with, Marcus," one of the team commented, grateful for a dig at the usual glory-hog.

Good natured chuckles followed and Marcus smirked, "First year, I'll clear it up for you, just in case you somehow damaged our Seeker's mind. If he doesn't catch the… you know, the tiny golden ball with the wings that… darts everywhere, sort of like a dragonfly… stitch… flitch…"

"Snitch?" Draco supplied, almost innocently.

"Don't back-chat, first year! If our Seeker doesn't catch the snitch we're going to be having some… words with you," Marcus dug a finger into Draco's chest, "And don't let me catch you in here again, this place is private!"

Draco nodded, his eyes purposely made wide in fake terror, "Of course… you might want to guide him there… I think he'll be a little bit… blank for a while. Just get him on a broom, push him up and everything should be fine."

He couldn't help but worry. Harry could very well _die. _But it was a minor branch off to the conclusions that Draco had envisioned. In the majority of endings, Draco had imagined, Harry had ended up fine, if a little hurt. In only one of them he'd ended up dead, but that was only in Draco's scenario. Out in the real world, there'd be a million and one variables that he'd need to add in and his brain capacity could only hold so much.

He let out a breath and after the Slytherin team disappeared onto their balcony; he receded to his own seat. It would be all or nothing in the next few minutes.

"All or nothing," repeated the blonde, suddenly realising what he'd just done. It hit him like a brick wall. He took a deep breath and leant as forward as far as he could to the edge of the seatings. Many of the other Slytherin audience watched in anticipation, binoculars raised to their eyes to get a better look. As Draco gazed around at the rest of the stadium, he realised the place was practically packed. Each part of the stands was littered with a jostling crowd, each person vying for a better seat.

He didn't think there'd be such a large turn out, but then again this was a Slytherin versus Gryffindor game. Everyone knew of the bitter rivalry and bad atmosphere between the two houses. They were probably wondering if all the tension, that'd been building since Harry had entered Slytherin, would manifest into numerous fouls and injuries. Quidditch wasn't considered a blood-sport, but if the players were aggressive enough, it could very well evolve into one – even worse, possibly it could become a death-match. After all, the only way this game would end was if the snitch was caught – or if the team captains agreed on something.

Draco glanced between the captains (both of which he knew – after all, Quidditch was Draco's favourite sport), Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood, both stubborn teenagers, with strong personalities. Neither would agree to anything the other proposed. Therefore, it all came down to the Seekers. Draco swallowed nervously. Had he just screwed up the match? Assured Slytherin would lose? Then instantly he calmed himself, _It doesn't matter; if it wakes Harry – it'll be worth it._

The blonde's shark-skin coloured eyes narrowed in as the referee, Madam Hooch, walked on into the middle of the field. He knew what she was saying – he'd listened in before, now the only thing he could watch was Harry, who no one knew was Harry. They thought it was Terrence; after all, he still had the black mask on. Draco's smirk widened. The only thing which could go wrong was the things he hadn't accounted for. He tried to reassure himself, uttering in his mind that there couldn't be much he hadn't thought of – after all, his plan was perfect…

Wasn't it?

As the professor looked to be finishing, Draco focused more onto Harry and then it hit him – the single most obvious flaw. The most important thing, as well. Draco couldn't tell what Harry was feeling. He wouldn't know if it had woken him, or if he wasn't reacting. Since he couldn't see Harry's face, he wouldn't know if it was working. Draco's stomach coiled in on itself and he felt instantly nauseous. His plan was falling apart in front of him… if he hadn't thought of that, what else hadn't he thought of?

He watched, feeling rather like the colour of his house team, as the teams mounted their brooms and how the Slytherins practically threw Harry onto his. Draco's mouth felt suddenly dry. Very dry, indeed. _What if my plan fails?_

And then a whistle, clear, sharp, piercing and loud enough to echo into the very depths of Draco's being, sounded off from Madam Hooch. Twelve brooms shot up into the air, seven from Gryffindor and five from Slytherin. Draco felt a little bit of relief – they'd listened to him. Marcus snaked an arm out, grabbed roughly onto Harry's robe and basically flung him into the air. Mildly alerted, Draco watched closely as Harry was thrown sharply off the side of his broom – still rising in the air. Harry's thighs, used to clinging to the broom, were the only muscles holding him up. Draco took a sharp intake of breath as Harry subconsciously righted himself and continued to float higher and higher.

The running commentary sounded somewhat like gibberish to Draco. He was too caught up in Harry's ascent, swiftly rising. Harry didn't appear to be paying any attention. And then suddenly, Harry's broom tipped and it began to dive its descent. Hurtling towards the ground at break neck speeds. Harry watched blankly as the ground grew closer and closer.

_I deserve this. Death. Like my parents… My parents? They died… and left me all alone. No one loved me. I was left alone wishing for somewhere to… to love. To be free. To have friends… And I let one of them die. I'm so worthless. The world would be better without me._

The ground was flying towards him and Draco could only watch in terror as Harry dived to his certain death.

_I'm so weak. I could've saved him if I was stronger. If… if I weren't so stupid. If I weren't so weak._

Draco was already panicking, and that was _before _Harry's broom began acting up. The broom under the brunette lurched, suddenly, causing his descent to take on an angle to the floor. One foot away, speeding downwards – death almost certain and then it staggered right, spinning Harry away from the ground, his feet dragging across the field, taking out strands of grass.

Draco finally couldn't contain his worry any longer and screamed out, "YOU GIT!" and was almost lost in the uproar of the whole audience. At that exact moment, as the words ripped from Draco's mouth, a streak of gold flashed past Harry's face, nearly taking off his nose. His glasses fell askew and for a second he snapped out of his thoughts. And Harry heard Draco. The brunette glanced over, confused, at the stand where Draco stood, almost leaning off the balcony – trying to see if Harry was alright.

_Friends… I still have friends. If I die… they'll be alone. Like I was. I can't… I can't let anyone suffer like that. But… I'm so weak. _Suddenly, the bravest strongest part of Harry spoke up, fighting through the depression that had consumed him, _Remember what Draco said! REMEMBER- "Life isn't something which has limit. The animal did not have to die; it died because it was weak." _Things seemed to suddenly clack together in the brunette's mind as his emerald eyes widened in realisation, _If I become stronger… I can stop anything like that from happening ever again. I can make it so no one who's close to me will ever get hurt. Life will have no limit, because I'll be strong! I just have to become… stronger and better. Then I'll have my place and my friends. I just need to be stronger!_

The inner strength, his better self, of Harry almost snickered at the simplicity at how Harry thought.

Harry was suddenly aware of his surroundings. He saw everything. Felt the broom changing direction rapidly, his body nearly flinging off. His heart thundered with excitement. Harry was going so fast, so high, swapping directions so suddenly. The wind rushing through his hair, he tasted the flavours of anticipation and joy mingling in the air. The coolness of the afternoon lingered on his skin and he could feel the warmth of the sunset on his back, riding his shadow. It was all so thrilling that he felt a surge of happiness rage through him. It felt like it had been forever since this feeling had rushed through him. He was having fun!

The broom bucked underneath him and abruptly his hands were on it, trying to guide it. It didn't want to do anything he wanted; like it had a mind of its own. A large ball rushed past Harry's head and, Draco watched, as he ducked. Draco, for a moment, saw the boy in Madam Malkin's Robes, dodging the folded material. A smile crept up onto his face. The _old _Harry was back. Such a great sense of relief and happiness assaulted him that he was surprised. Harry was going to get a _mouthful _when he got back.

Both teams were taking the distraction that Harry was supplying as an advantage for fouls and broken rules. Draco wondered for a second why Harry, even though he was _awake _now, still was having trouble guiding his broom. He watched silently as Harry darted to and fro about in the air, his body following only a few moments after, almost falling. Harry's grip was wearing thin. Soon, he wouldn't be able to hold on. What was he meant to do? How could he get down? And more importantly, a question popped into his mind; _What am I doing here?_

The blonde had deduced that there was _definitely_ something wrong with Harry's broom. It was acting… odd. Like something were affecting it. Harry had much more control and speed and, well, everything than what he was currently portraying. Something was wrong. Some one else had to be interfering. Who? Who could want Harry to fail? Draco cast a suspicious glance at Dumbledore. _No, nothing, _Draco sighed and wondered who else would know any spells which could _affect _Harry's broom like that. He gazed across the other professors. And then he stopped, upon one who was muttering under his breath – eyes locked on Harry. Draco found his couldn't even _look _at the other teachers.

_Snape? _

Draco was aghast. How… why… what could Snape _gain _from making Harry fail? Draco thought the professor had formed a… not attachment, but sense of interest in Harry during their countless detentions together. Surely… surely, it wasn't all an act? Especially since Snape was meant to be _helping _Draco turn Harry into the Next Dark Lord. It didn't make any sense. Until – Dumbledore shifted and looked warmly at him. Then all the puzzle pieces fell neatly into place. Draco felt like screaming – _A Death-eater in cahoots with that madman?_ _What has the world come to?_

Draco locked his gaze back onto Harry who was now _dangling _from his broom, holding on by one single determined hand. He was at such a height, that any fall would be lethal. The brunette wasn't going to let the cleaning instrument win. This was clearly the first test he'd have to face in his new quest to be stronger – better. He'd need to live through this. _Needed _to. As Harry's hand began to slip, he tried to think of something he needed to hang on for, something to steel his determination.

"IF YOU FALL, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" shouted a voice from one of the stands and Harry didn't even need to think about whom it belonged to.

A smirk slivered over his face, through his worries and through the sweat which was trickling down his face from effort. The muscles in his arm burned. They screamed to be released from their torturous use. Harry was in no mind to pay attention. Someone was worried about him. Someone cared. And as long as there was someone who did, Harry was going to live and become stronger - so he'd never see them get hurt.

The broom lurched, but Harry's grip didn't weaken – it clamped on tighter, harder – his knuckles white with the force of it. Draco tried to go through the crowd, but the people were so thickly crammed in that he wasn't making enough distance. Harry was going to fall to his death if he didn't do something! Once again, one of the feelings that Draco now commonly associated with Harry, curled in his stomach. Guilt. Once again, Harry was possibly going to face death because of him. The blonde stopped thinking about it and focused on trying to get through the audience.

He wasn't going to get there in time. He knew it with a certainty. _Think, Draco, think! _Draco felt a growl of frustration vibrate in his throat. A drop of sweat fell into his eyes, causing him to blink. As he cursed he wiped at his eye and then tried focusing his sight on Snape again, but his gaze fell one level lower. Draco's mouth fell open.

Hermione. She was sitting directly _under _Snape. A plan lit in his mind and he took a deep breath. If this didn't work…

...

Harry could feel his hand shaking with effort as the broom bucked this way and that. He could only hold on for a little longer. Something whizzed past his face; golden, shiny – small. Its flight was quick and it zigzagged. It reminded Harry fleetingly of a dragonfly. A half remembered memory slipped into his mind, _"First year, I'll clear it up for you, just in case you somehow damaged our Seeker's mind. If he doesn't catch the… you know the tiny ball with the wings that… darts everywhere sort of like a dragonfly… stitch… flitch…"_

"_Snitch?" _

"_Don't back-chat, first year! If our Seeker doesn't catch the snitch we're going to be having some… words with you!"_

The thing flying past Harry had to be the "snitch". The brunette suddenly realised the reason why he was where he was. He had an answer to the previous question. Draco had set it all up. He'd put Harry into the air in the hope that'd it… _Make me normal? _Supplied a rather sadistic part of his mind. He snorted. And it had worked. But if Harry didn't catch the snitch… Draco would be in trouble with the Slytherin Quidditch Team. Maybe… maybe they'd even hurt him!

Harry watched as the snitch sailed past him again, glinting almost gloatingly. Death and Snitch or Life and a Hurt-Draco. He didn't even hesitate. He grinned wickedly, thinking how stupid he was. He didn't need to get stronger for this – he could make sure one of the people he cared about wouldn't be hurt – RIGHT NOW. Keeping his eyes on the snitch, he dove for it.

...

_Hermione,_

_Harry is being cursed by Snape. Get Ron to distract him. I know. How could I not? You've been blatantly obvious._

_Malfoy._

And then with a deep breath he folded his written letter up and – with a swish and flick – screamed, "_WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"_ It took a lot of effort to get the letter up into the air. Draco was never good at precision. Getting the note to Hermione would take almost all of Draco's energy. Focusing, he dragged his wand in the direction of Hermione. The wind had other thoughts, battering the paper in a different course. The rush of magic flowed through him and he could literally feel it leeching his strength away. Draco was beginning to feel faint and he hoped he had guessed right.

The note was all the way across the field, after being nearly knocked down by a bludger. And then it landed, neatly into Hermione's lap. Draco collapsed, his eyes rolling in his head and falling onto the people standing next to him. He was drained. The power used to cross the entire pitch, fight against wind, and concentration for the direction and dodging had completely worn him out.

As Draco lost consciousness his previous jinxes failed.

...

Somewhere in the Slytherin _Change Rooms _Terrence's mask slipped off onto the ground, before hissing off into nothingness.

...

Harry was flying through the air. The wind was rushing past him, almost clawing at his robes, trying to keep him aloft. The snitch was going down, down, down. Flitting right and then left. Harry's eyes never left it. A silence filled the stadium. No one could believe what Harry was doing. It was crazy.

And then the snitch was still, falling at exactly the same rate as Harry.

The brunette snaked a hand out, felt the wings of the snitch brush against his palm and then it was gone. Harry's eyes grew wide as the ground inched closer and closer. _Well, this plan wasn't very well thought out, _Harry could almost _hear _Draco saying. As Harry fell to his death, he smirked back, "I never had a plan."

...

Hermione read the letter and swept a hand up to her mouth. _How did Draco know?_ She watched in horror as the black mask faded from the Seeker's face and Harry dived for the snitch. Then she turned and whispered, "I know you hate Harry, but you can't let him die! Do something!"

There was a silence.

Hermione snapped, "Merlin's beard, Ron! I don't _care _if that's what he deserved! You've made me act out this ridiculous charade to make him feel _awful_, but you are going to help him, or I swear to Godric Gryffindor himself that this will be the last time we talk."

Silence was her only reply.

"What do you mean you can't do anything! That's ridiculous. I'm not going to be losing both of you. Now, go annoy the professors while I save Harry's life."

The bushy haired girl pulled her wand from her robe and aimed it at the now rampant broom. She took a deep long breath and then whispered, "_Wingardium leviosa."_

...  


Snape felt a chill on his neck, like something breathing on it and it caused him to start – knocking straight into Quirrell, who looked quite shocked as well.

...

The broom stopped quaking and Hermione arched her wand down and watched as the broom imitated the effect, swooping down, down, down.

...

_This isn't a _bad _death, _Harry thought idly as the plummeted down. There was only one foot between him and the ground now. _It's not a good death _either. And then as he came into contact with the force he found himself thinking of all the fun times he'd had at Hogwarts. It _had _been his true place.

The brunette closed his eyes and waited for the pain and then nothing.

Oh, the pain came. It shuddered through his body, hitting him like a freight train, almost breaking his back bone. But the nothingness didn't come after, at all.

...

The Gryffindor let out a shriek of joy, her spell had been successful, "Yes!"

And then she looked softly at the air beside her, "Thank you, Ron."

...

Harry's eyes flicked open along with his mouth as he screamed in pain. The broom had intercepted his fall, taking the brunt of it all. It snapped in half and at the corner of Harry's eye he saw the snitch darting near him, toying with him. _I could very well be dead, but I'm not going to let Draco get hurt! _He stretched out a, most likely broken, hand – his fingers quivering, the tips dotted with splinters.

And then he hit the ground tripping him into a tumble, spinning, falling, and creating a trail of upturned dirt and grass. Finally, he rolled to a stop – a cloud of dust storming around him. The whole entire stadium went silent, wondering if the boy was okay. Madam Hooch rushed forward as the dust died down.

Her face edged with worry, she kneeled next to his body and checked his vitals. First his neck, but she wasn't getting a strong pulse from there – so she picked his wrist up and her mouth fell open. With a moment hesitation she flicked the whistle up to her lips, blew into it and shouted, "The Seeker has caught the snitch. SLYTHERIN wins!"

A medic team rushed onto field as the segment that was the green-adorned audience broke out into the loudest cheering since the day that Harry had been sorted into their house.

...

Draco gazed curiously at the brunette who was bandaged from about head to toe. He couldn't believe it had worked. This was the _best _outcome, which he hadn't even thought of. Harry was back. But… there was something different, more relaxed about him.

"You actually _jumped _off your broom?" Draco asked from the hospital wing bed next to him.

Harry gave him a sheepish grin, "It was more of majestic dive."

"What were you thinking, you idiot?"

"Well, I was thinking, that I didn't want you to get hurt."

Draco was silent as he mulled the comment over. And then he retorted, "You're such a git!"

Harry laughed and then instantly regretted it as pains shot through his body. Even though Madam Pomfrey had assured him that he would heal quickly, he was still hurting a lot. The brown haired boy felt a smirk creep up onto his face, "I fell, you know. Are you still going to kill me?"

Draco scowled and then sniggered back, "One day when you're dying, I'll be there and I'll claim the credit. Because that's what a _real _Slytherin would do," he paused and then propped his head up on his arm, laying down on his side, staring at Harry, "Did they _really _make you the Slytherin team Seeker?"

"That's what Marcus said. I can't believe it myself. We completely broke the rules, I nearly died. And yet… I get the best reward in the world," Harry spoke softly, warmly.

The seedling in Draco's mind shot up, suddenly – its single leaf had been wilting – dying from the lack of light. But now it was alive again. Silence ruled supreme for a second and they both sat in companionable quietness. Harry let out a content sigh and then rolled over to smile, ever so brightly, at Draco.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Draco snorted back, sarcastically, hiding the dazzled expression from the smile he'd almost forgotten.

"I'm not joking," Harry sniffed, acting hurt.

"I know… I…" Draco's shark-skin eyes met Harry's emerald green ones, "I bloody missed you, you git. If you ever become like that again, I'm going to push you off your broom myself. You hear?"

Harry smirked, "As if you could ever catch me on a broom."

Draco scowled at him, "I'm serious."

"I know."

And then there was silence. Warm, soft, fluffy silence – as the two boys sat there, without a word, yet with smiles on their faces, as if everything were right with the world. As if Harry was not the Boy Who Lived. As if Draco was not the son of a Death-eater. As if… nothing mattered.

Because the _old _Harry was back.

_..._

Dear father,

_Severus Snape is a liar and a traitor. Harry has finally snapped out of his… weird mood. He's actually showing interest in learning some… strange spells. Some of them are Dark. Should I attempt to teach them to him or give him the means of learning them? He's acting a little differently, but I think the shock tactic worked. The Weasley's death has been forgotten._

_Yours joyfully,_

_Draco Malfoy._

_..._

Dear son,

_I agree. Snape has been working under Dumbledore for years. He's a turncoat and I don't trust him. I have sent him a message which I hope he will answer. By all means teach the boy the Dark Spells, but make sure they can't harm He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. After all, Potter's only purpose is to bring Him to attention. _

_Yours sceptically,_

_Lucius Malfoy._

_..._

Snape,

_You have proved yourself reliable. I expect you to continue on with our agreement. My son will be watching you closely to make sure you do not deviate from my plan. Do as you will. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will be attracted by the competition that the Potter Boy creates._

_Lucius Malfoy._

...  


_(Inats92 – Yes, he is dead. However… NAH, I can't tell you. Hehe. Madriddler – DAMNIT. So close. Did I get there yet? :D Cyera – I want to tell you that… BUT I CAN'T! Isabelledward – Aww, thank you. LoireLoa – Hmmm, thanks for mentioning that. I actually changed a little bit in this because you said that. Artemis – Sorry it took so long! D: Moon's the limit – I hope I answered all your questions and… I hope you like the rest of the story. By the way, I really love it when you guys review.)_


	8. The Midnight Duel

_( :'( The reason I haven't updated for so long is because I was waiting on reviews. I don't know if I've said this yet… but reviews are like… my muse! I can't create without it! :( I don't know where all my followers went, but you made me so utterly depressed when you didn't review. Anyway… *sigh* I won't be doing that parody I was thinking of. Also… please write gabbaeebatasheeba in your review if you actually read these notes I write.)_

**CHAPTER EIGHT: MIDNIGHT DUEL**

Christmas arrived all too early. Harry barely had time to think about buying presents. Exams took over his mind and then there were the Quidditch games and the extra research he was putting into the unicorn's blood which led him to never-ending hints and clues which never really went anywhere except in circles. Then there was Draco who, for some reason, hadn't stopped watching him like a hawk ever since... ever since the troll incident. And there was Snape, who had taken to giving him detentions all the time for the most nonsensical reasons. Harry didn't mind, because for some reason Snape had decided to stop hating him so much and Harry liked not being hated.

Draco accompanied him to the detentions and both the professor and his best friend continued to make curious comments. Harry was still unsure of the purpose behind them, but for some odd reason Harry retained their words – maybe just for the sake of being able to surprise them if they ever decided to ask him about the information. They hadn't yet, but from what he'd learnt by being a student of Snape, the professor loved springing things on you when you least expected it. And when you did expect it as well – making it that much harder to ever correctly expect at all.

The platinum blonde boy sitting parallel to Harry in the library, who'd been staring at him, waved a hand in front of the boy's face, "Harry, I swear to Merlin if you haven't heard a word I've been saying I'm going to break your glasses. Again."

He was referring to the last time he'd snapped Harry's glasses, accidentally, but that didn't matter to Draco. He'd claimed the breakage with a wicked smirk and eyes of pure evil. In response, Harry transfigured Draco's other sock into two mittens and wore them enthusiastically. Draco only noticed the lack of his socks and ranted for about a week about some house elves stealing his clothes. Hermione had fixed it with _reparo _once she'd noticed and had given the air next to her a sharp glance. It made Draco smirk and Harry couldn't help but wonder what she'd been looking at.

"Oh, be quiet, Draco. I'm thinking of what to get you for Christmas," Harry snorted at him.

"Oh," was all Draco could say, but after a second thought he continued with, "You know, you could tell me what you're thinking and I could then relay to you whether or not I would like what you're thinking about."

"Draco. Honestly, what would be the point in that? I'd might as well tell you what I'm going to get you," the brunette retorted.

Draco refused to let the blush he felt show and instead scowled at his best friend, "I like the colour green, if that helps."

"It really doesn't, Draco. Everyone in Slytherin likes the colour green. _I _like the colour green, but I also like people, so I suppose that rules out Slytherins being all the same," Harry poked his tongue out at Draco, who's scowl deepened in anger.

"I like people, I'm just more selective and I'm-"

"Picky."

Draco glared at him, but continued nonplussed, "Of higher expectations, than you are. Being a pureblood makes liking people a hard task. I'm not allowed to like people who don't meet me in status and thus I have to be-"

"A snobby git?" Harry supplied with a raised eyebrow.

"Picky," Draco decided to concede with a sigh.

"I don't get you sometimes, Draco. You're a perfectly logical person," He paused after frowning, "Mostly logical person," Harry corrected, "But you can't see past the limits of your views, can you?"

"At least I _have_ views, Potter."

"I have views, but they're..."

"Non-existent?" Draco put the word out there, with a winning smirk.

"Ambiguous and vague," Harry hissed back. He didn't want to mention his life changing discovery about his new quest to become stronger to protect people he cared about in _his _place. It wasn't a view he was sure was correct yet and he wasn't comfortable sharing it. Which made it rather ambiguous and vague – Harry wasn't one to lie.

"Not nice, is it?" Draco questioned, referring to the fill-in statements.

"Not at all."

"Well, then – what are you getting me?" Draco asked, the question still biting at his mind. He thought maybe he'd take Harry off-guard after their verbal battle.

"A sense of humility," Harry smirked back at him, not one to be taken off-balance.

"Well, you definitely have some to spare."

Harry grinned, one of his bright grins and it was one of those moments when Draco forgot what he'd been trying to turn Harry into. He forgot everything that made Harry the perfect Next Dark Lord. He forgot that they were even insulting each other. For those few seconds, they were just Harry and Draco. And the little seedling in Draco's mind loved these moments more than anything – for it did more than survive, it thrived. In fact, Draco was beginning to sense it, but he wasn't entirely sure what it was. It just made Draco feel a little... curious whenever he was around Harry. Apprehensive, sort of. Like at any moment he should expect something to happen which was very unlikely, but possible. It made no sense to Draco, so he just ignored it.

"Well, I was thinking about buying you some socks," Harry chuckled back.

It launched Draco into a tirade about house elves, which Harry fought the urge to break out into laughter at. Instead, he rubbed his hands, which were currently in the said mittens, and adjusted his scarf around his neck. Madam Pince, the librarian, hissed at Draco and promptly shut him up.

"Well, I'm getting you a sense of style, I can't let you walk around like a..."

"Half-blood?" Harry proffered.

"I was going to say a nest of birds, but they're about even, so – yes, like a half-blood. You, Potter, need some style."

"I have style. It just happens to be half-blooded," Harry reasoned.

"More like half-assed. Did you even have a bath yesterday?" This was asked with a wrinkle of Draco's nose.

Harry's face felt hot and he pulled the scarf away from his neck, "Well..."

"That's disgusting, Harry. Really... deplorable," Draco continued muttering insults under his breath.

"At least I don't spend half an hour doing my hair in the morning," Harry spat.

"I do not spend half an hou-"

"I've timed you. Sometimes you take longer."

Draco went silent as he contemplated a reply, but after a while still nothing was forthcoming, so he admitted his defeat with a coolly said, "Touche."

"I win," Harry laughed.

Draco rolled his silver-blue eyes and thumped back into his chair. He eyed the _hunt figura _which was sitting on Harry's shoulder, and the creature stared at him right back. Cautela was... unnerving to say the least. The way it shifted forms continuously gave Draco goosebumps, yet at the same time it fascinated Draco. What he'd do for a pet like that...

"What are _you _getting me for Christmas?" Harry asked, his eyes wide and trusting.

Draco couldn't bring himself to insult the brunette and replied truthfully, "I've already gotten it. And trust me, it'll be perfect."

In fact, it would be – but only for Draco and Snape. It was dark arts book which took you to a different and out-of-time dimension to learn spells. The only draw-back was that the one who was learning the spell had to stay in the book until they'd reach master level.

"Made any progress?" Draco jutted his chin at the book in front of Harry.

"Well, sort of. The centaur _was _right about what unicorn blood does to you, but – it can also do so much more. But the descriptions are vague and I've no idea what half of them mean. I know someone who would, but I don't feel like dragging anyone else into this."

"Who?" Draco asked impatiently.

"Hermione," Harry replied.

The seething look Draco shot him was more than answer enough.

"Fine, we'll figure this out by ourselves," Harry grumbled, already forgetting about the unicorn blood and instead trying to wrap his head around a present which would be welcomed by Draco. Nothing came immediately to mind, which annoyed him to no end.

...

"Christmas is in three days, Harry."

"I haven't gotten it yet, Draco."

...

"Two days..."

"No, Draco."

...

"You know tomorrow is C-"

"Not yet, Draco."

...

"You better have my present, Potter," Draco grumbled on Christmas morning.

"With the way you've been acting, I really shouldn't, Draco," Harry moaned back, but continued, "But I have gotten you one."

Draco's eyes widened with joy and his mouth was actually stretched into one of his rare smiles – not a smirk.

The sun was barely up and people all through the dorm were groaning their protests at the two boy's disturbances. It amused Harry to no end, annoying his dorm-mates like this and Draco, with a large smirk, was obviously taking pleasure from it as well. Nothing much had changed within the common room, except someone had erected a Christmas tree and placed it parallel to the fireplace. Underneath it sat a pitiful pile of presents. Apparently, Slytherins didn't really celebrate the holiday that much. Draco had explained that the exchange of gifts wasn't usually so open and was done in private. It all seemed a little suspicious to Harry, but he let it go without comment.

"There," Harry pointed to a tiny wrapped gift.

Draco instantly felt cheated, "And what is _that_?"

"Open it and you'll find out, you bloody git," Harry muttered under his breath just loud enough for Draco to hear.

"It better be good," Draco whined as he knelt beside it, picking it up experimentally and giving it a shake. A small rattle sounded inside the present.

It was a just a simple little box, the wrapping paper nothing more than cheaply dyed cardboard, kept together with a pathetic bow ties who's curls were limp and a lot less springy then they properly should've been. The sadness of it almost wanted to make Draco laugh in depression. Slowly, hoping not to disappoint himself too quickly, he pulled apart the wrapping and came face to face with a cardboard box.

Draco opened the lid and found nothing in it. There were no words for how ridiculed he felt.

He raised his eyes to Harry's and found the brunette to be smirking. Harry _hadn't _bought a Christmas gift for him after all. Harry, seeing the dismayed look on his friend's face, rolled his eyes and sighed, "You really are a git. There _is _something in there, Draco."

Draco frowned and tipped the box upside down and out fell a small metallic object. It clinked on the floor and Draco watched it, his eyes never leaving the metal piece. As soon as it stopped, he reached over and picked it up. It was a small miniature of Cautela's favourite form. As Draco took in the amazing detail of the shape, which was no bigger than his thumb, Harry explained the gift.

"I always saw you watching him whenever you could. It took me ages to get the shape right, but in the end I got it," Harry relayed this information with the satisfaction he'd felt when he finally perfected it.

"What is it made out of?" Draco asked, though he still hadn't taken his eyes of the replica piece of metal.

Harry tried to hide the blush, "Well... I had a tin of toy soldiers that I took from... home. They were my favourite toys. Well – my only toys. I only have one left now, but it was worth it."

It was then that Draco decided to tear his eyes off the perfect form. The gravity of the situation hit him. Harry had just _wasted _his only toys for him. It was at once both a horrible and amazing feeling. Horrible because he felt awful about the present he'd bought Harry as well as the motives behind it. Amazing because... no one had ever put so much thought into a present as Harry had. Draco's gift paled in comparison.

"So, do you like it?" Harry asked, his voice quiet and unsure – wavering even.

"Do I like it." Draco repeated, dumb-founded.

"Oh... I can always just get you something else," the tone in Harry's voice expressed the sadness he would never share with Draco in words. He'd put a lot of thought and dedication into this, but Draco might not like it...

"You git! I don't like it... I'd got so far to say I love it!" Draco couldn't let that expression stay on Harry's face and surprising both of them, he pulled the glassed-boy into a hug so firm that it took the brunette's breath away.

"You-didn't-let-me-finish," Harry gasped.

Draco released him, gripping the figure in the palm of his hand.

As Harry regained his breath, Draco smirked at him, "Not fit, Potter?"

"Not used to being squashed by a Malfoy's hug, Draco. Now, shut-up and let me finish."

Draco was chastised for the moment and let Harry continue, "Now, I've managed to fiddle with transfiguration a little bit and this little figure will turn into any animal you think off, as long as you say _figura transfigurum. _Try it!"

The blonde, encouraged by the emotion in Harry's eyes, thought of an animal and whispered, "_Figura transfigurum._"

The little metal object melded into a snake with such accurate detailing that it caused Draco to gasp in delight, "Harry, that's... amazing! There's no other word for it, Harry."

"I'm just a genius, that is all," the brunette replied.

The silver eyed boy, too enamoured with his new present, gestured towards his own at the bottom on the pile, "That's mine for you, Harry."

Harry dived for it and unwrapped it instantly. Draco watched the boy's face closely and was entirely bedazzled when Harry's mouth twisted into a bigger grin.

"Draco, this is brilliant! I really needed this book, thanks a lot," spouted the happy eleven year old.

There was a single present left under the tree with a simple scribed word on it – "Harry."

Draco felt a tinge of jealousy, but gestured to it impatiently, "You have another present, Potter."

Harry's face was the perfect image of confusion, "Who could it possibly be from, Draco? My aunt and uncle are more likely to _ask _for presents from me than ever give me one."

They both sat quiet as Harry mused. The blonde, ever impatient, rolled his eyes and picked the gift up. Carefully, he examined it and after a few seconds, passed it over to the brunette, "It's perfectly fine, Harry. In fact, I'd bet you 6 galleons that it's just some clothes."

Harry undid the thin string, gray-like in colour, and watched as the wrapping practically fell off, "Well, if I were stupid I would've lost 6 galleons."

"So, you've lost 6 galleons?" Draco asked with a smirk and Harry spread the cloth over him.

It was a simple cloak from what Harry could see, but it shimmered with light which didn't exist in the room. The blonde's mouth fell open, "Merlin sake's, Harry! That's an invisibility cloak! Bleedin' hell, who'd you get that from?"

After shaking it out to lay it against the length of his body, a small note fell out and Draco dived on it with excitement. Harry got a glimpse of the writing – small scrawl which was all loopy. It was unfamiliar, but at the same time... curiously similar to something in a distant memory which Harry couldn't quite grasp; so he ignored it.

Draco spoke the letter out loud, "Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you."

Harry's best friend gave him a long sideways look, "You have the weirdest friends, Harry."

"You're my friend, Draco," Harry decided to mention with a grin.

Rather than be insulted he took the comment in his stride, "Indeed, and as your friend, I have to say your associates are the most curious sort. Why, knowing you, it's highly likely that this came from some insanely long lost relative who is potentially a murderer that once... what's something unbelievable that a Potter would do? Ahah! From someone who believed completely in the ideals of pure-bloodedness. But due to a twist in fate decided to..." He ran out of things to make up – imagination wasn't one of his stronger points.

"That's ridiculous, Draco."

Not one to be perturbed, Draco waved his hand nonchalantly, "Well, try it on, I want to see if it works. Or rather not see if it works."

Harry rolled his eyes at his friend's antics as he slipped the cloak over his shoulders, tied it up at the front and flipped the hood to hang over his face, "Well, how do I look?"

"That would involve me being able to see you," Draco replied dryly, his eyes still wide however, as was Malfoy nature, still not giving anything away.

To all appearances Harry Potter had ceased to exist. Draco continued to stare at the spot where Harry had once been and was slightly caught off guard when a loud creak sounded behind him.

"Just 'cause the cloak makes me blind to you, it doesn't make me deaf too, you know," Draco harrumphed slapping his hand into the air. With a thump it collided into something and Draco gripped it tightly and gave it a heavy tug.

The hood slid off Harry's head and left the rest of his body missing. Draco raised an amused eyebrow at him and smirked, "Lonely, Harry? Cause it looks like you've got no-body."

"Har-har, Draco. That's hilarious," the sarcasm oozed off Harry's voice as he took the cloak off completely, "Better?"

"Incomparably, Harry," laughed the blonde.

The young wizard sighed and folded the cloak up, snatching up the note and staring at it. Draco watched him, with his usual hawk-like stare, and slumped down onto the common room lounge. Harry followed suit and fell into the chair perpendicular to him.

"Do you know who it's from?" Draco voiced the question which Harry himself was asking in his mind.

"That's the thing. I've got no idea."

"Well, at least it's a thoughtful present," Draco supplied with appreciation.

"You've got a point. I've been needing to get around without people knowing lately," Harry mused out loud.

"You have?" asked Draco, trying to hide the anticipation creeping up his spine.

Without replying, Harry fell into silence, brooding on the subject of the unknown Christmas fiend.

...

"You're a murderer!" shouted a voice with a tone much like someone whom Harry knew to be... gone.

The pair turned around to find a teenager, only a few years older than them, whose eyes were fiery with anger only accentuated by the red-hair sitting haphazardly on his head. He was pointing an accusatory finger at Harry, shaking, quivering with such a rage Harry had only ever seen in half-remembered dreams. The teenager's body was tense and the hand which wasn't challenging the young wizard was gripping his wand so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Percy?" asked a small girlish voice somewhere down the hall and Harry realised it was Hermione.

_Why would Hermione know this boy for? _Harry wondered as he took in the awful situation. And then everything snapped into place. The red hair. The accusations. The anger. And then everything came rushing back. Ron's death was his fault. Oh god... it was all his fault. The guilt consumed the brunette again.

Draco noticed instantly the dimming of his eyes and intercepted, "What do you want, Weasley?"

"I want his life, Malfoy. A life for a life. Potter needs to pay up," growled the prefect.

Harry was silent for a moment, but his thoughts fixated onto the moment where he'd found a new reason to be alive. He needed to be stronger. He couldn't let this person step on him – he knew he'd been too weak to protect Ron. He wouldn't be weak again. He couldn't allow himself to be crushed – he _had _to be strong and he _had _to be better than what everyone thought of him. Harry's new view concreted in his mind.

So, he lifted his chin up and met Percy – eye to eye.

"And how would you like it served up, Percy? On a platter with an apple in my mouth?" Harry's voice was low, but it slid through the air with such clarity that it sliced into red-head's anger, "Because where would be the honour in that, Weasley?"

Percy gritted his teeth and for a second Draco swore he heard the wand in Percy's hand crack from the intensity he was gripping it with. The red-head took a deep, drawn-out breath and licked his lips.

"You're right, Potter. There's no honour in taking your life without a fight. I demand a wizard's duel."

The audience in the hallway gasped. The No one would talk about this, of course, as this was dangerous stuff.

"That sounds more like it," Harry grinned, "I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Harry, his voice dark, more cold than Draco had ever heard it.

"Tonight, if you want then. Wands only - no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose," snorted Percy.

"Of course he has," said Draco, wheeling around, "I'm his second, who's yours?"

Percy, who now had a slightly surprised look on his face, gestured to a Gryffindor standing by his side and then, with one last look of complete derision which was aimed at Harry, stormed off. Whispering ensued and Harry scowled at them all causing the audience to shut up and shuffle away from the to-be-dead-man. When there was sufficiently very little people left the brunette turned to the blonde and asked, "What is a wizard's duel? And what do you mean, you're my second?"

"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Draco casually, wiping off some invisible dirt from his shirt. Catching the look on Harry's face, he added pleasantly, "But people only die when they're facing someone who is stronger than them. Percy has zero chance in winning this duel."

"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?" asked Harry with simple dread.

Draco rolled his eyes, "That's hardly going to happen. Besides – you've got my Christmas present to help you master some. Remember, it takes you into an out-of-time dimension. Brilliant timing, wouldn't you say?"

"I have half a mind to blame you for this, you know, after saying something like that."

"Well, you'll never know, will you?" drawled Draco.

...

"They said the locked trophy room, right?" asked Harry calmly, letting his gaze drift around the room.

A simple _alohomora _and they were in. There was nothing much in the room, anyway. That was probably the reason it was locked. Ashamed by the lack of trophies they had decided to lock the room so that it would give the assumption that they had trophies to keep secure. Harry doubted that however. They were most likely hidden by a spell or kept in a secret compartment in the room.

Draco whined, striding back and forth, as impatient as ever, "By Merlin's beard, its half past midnight already. You'd think he'd at least have the decency to arrive on time, after all he was the one who challenged you to the duel in the first place."

Harry's nose wrinkled in distaste at the tone in his friend's voice, "Draco, honestly, you sound like a girl. Shut-it."

Draco cast him a sideways look and then sighed, admitting his defeat, then with a loud groan he lowered himself to a small stool and propped his chin up with his arm which was resting on his knee. Draco and him both were wearing school robes, because as Draco had explained to Harry – wizards' duels were messy things; usually drawing blood, among other things.

Harry had spent almost a week in that book, mastering different spells. He came out exhausted, but because of the out-of-time qualities that the dimension had, he had been there for little more than a millisecond. Afterwards, he'd slept until Draco had dragged him out of bed for the duel.

And they'd been there for half an hour already. Harry was about to call it a night when a knocking rang out on the door. Draco hissed through clenched teeth, "What does he want to do? Alert the whole school that we're illegally duelling here?"

Harry had much the same sentiments, but didn't express it quite as Draco had, "Just open the door, Malfoy."

"Figures, doesn't it. As soon as I sit down I have to get up," whinged the blonde.

Harry rolled his eyes, "Well, you _are _closer. Blame your positioning if you wish to blame something."

With another sigh, Draco walked to the door and pulled it open. Standing there was not who they were expecting. In fact, not who they were expecting at all – not even the slightest. Harry, who was standing in a position where he had no view of the stranger, stepped out. When he recognised the intruder, his mouth fell open. Draco was having a hard time comprehending the situation and just stepped out of the person's way as they walked into the trophy room and closed the door behind them.

"Well, now that you've let me in I have a few things to say. You mustn't go wandering around after curfew, think of the points you'll lose for Slytherin if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you. Aren't you glad I've told Professor McGonagall about this nonsense _and _kept your names out of it?"

"Granger!" Draco snapped, the first one to gain his bearings. He made little secret of his hate for the muggle-born girl, but Harry had begun to rub off on him and he less frequently called her insults to her face – or at least when Harry was around. Which unfortunately he was, otherwise she would've gotten a mouthful.

She sniffed her nose at them, "Well, if that's all the thanks I'm going to get I might as well tell Ron to wake up the others and dob on you right here and now. Honestly."

Harry ignored the Ron part and caught Draco's eye, warning him against further comments, "I'm sorry for that greeting Hermione, except we were... sort of expecting someone else."

"Terribly prepared to kill someone, weren't you, Harry?" Hermione asked, her bushy eyebrow raised.

Harry growled, "I'll have you know, I was going to do it quick and painlessly. One spell. And he would've been down. Unconscious. Not dead. It took me almost a week to learn it so well."

"Wherever did you find a week to learn it in?"

Draco cleared his throat loudly and gestured at her, "Nevermind that, Granger. What happened to Percy after you snitched on him?"

"Well, I think snitched is rather a crass term, a bit beneath a pureblood such as yourself," Hermione snarked, but continued nonetheless, "However, as soon as Dumbledore became aware of the wizards' duel which he had challenged you with, Percy was expelled from the school."

"Ron wouldn't have been very happy about that, Granger," smirked Draco.

Hermione's eyes snapped towards his and Harry could literally feel the heat smouldering in her gaze, "I'll have you know, Malfoy, that Ron would've supported me entirely."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry muttered, a weight lifting off his shoulders.

He'd been prepared to go through with this, but he hadn't really wanted to. Draco watched his reaction in the corner of his eyes and filed it away for further use. Hermione smiled in response to brunette and nodded her head respectively.

"Ron always wanted to know why I have defended you so fervently. If he was here, I would've told him it's because there is something about you which I feel I can trust. It may not be completely light or even right. It's nonsense really; I'm hardly a 'go by the gut-feeling' type of person, but... I have a feeling you'd do just as much for me as I'd do for you," Hermione looked just about beet-red by the time she was finished and she cleared her throat, "Anyway, we'd best be going back to sleep. We don't want Filch catching us. Come along, then."

As Harry followed her out, Draco watched in silence. What she had said was everything he, himself, thought. There _was _something about Harry which did just that. Draco had assumed it was the just the qualities of the Next Dark Lord shining through... but if a mudblood could see it _and _trust it – maybe it was something else entirely?

"Care to join us, Draco?" Harry quipped the blonde.

He scowled as he was shaken from his musings and shadowed them out the door, but not before grabbing the invisibility cloak which Harry had forgotten. After a few minutes they arrived at the stairs which split Gryffindor from Slytherin. Harry regarded Hermione with a soft smile and she grinned at him back. Draco watched with a roll of his eyes.

"If you're finished with the pleasantries, can we leave?" sniped the silver-eyed boy.

"Oh, shut-it, Malfoy. Night, Harry," Hermione waved as she disappeared up the stairs.

"Draco, you know, sometimes... You're-"

"Devilishly amazing?" Draco supplied with a smirk.

"Down-right annoying. Hermione practically saved our lives and you didn't give her so much as a thank-you."

"I'm a pureblood. We don't thank muggle-borns. It's not in my blood," Draco shrugged.

Harry let out an exasperated sigh and continued on to walk up the stairs. He froze in thought and turned to Draco, "Say – have you seen Cautela all night?"

The blonde shook his head, and not even a single strand of hair fell astray, "Not a glimpse. Why?"

Harry rubbed his chin in thought as he proceeded to walk to the dorms, "Well, it's something I can't tell you about. Needless to say, it intrigues me. Cautela is often interested in... similar things. Anyway," the brunette waved a dismissing hand, "We're going _hunt figura _hunting tonight."

"I'm ashamed, Harry. Purposely putting into jeopardy our house's chance to win the House Cup, like that. Terribly ashamed," Draco uttered with his almost pitch-perfect imitation of Hermione's voice.

Harry couldn't resist the grin which spread across his face, "Where's the fun in sticking with the rules?"

Draco smirked, "Where indeed."

...

"Cautela?"

"You honestly think you're going to find him like that, Potter?" Draco asked, a snarl in his voice and the exhaustion tugging at his emotions.

"Works like a charm, normally," Harry replied with a shrug.

"Well – there's only one more place to look, you realise."

"Third floor?" Harry asked, knowing that he was right.

"Forbidden corridor," Draco corrected.

"Well... we're already here."

And so they had been for the last five minutes, sitting underneath the invisibility cloak, staring at the steps which led to the third forbidden floor.

"I can see that, Harry, but I've been waiting on you to make up your mind."

"Waiting on me? That's rich! I can tell you don't want to go up as much as I don't," Harry spat.

They sat in brooding silence.

Then a sound made them both leap for the stairs. It was a meow, at night it echoed around the building and bounced off the walls.

"Mrs Norris!" whispered Harry as they flew up the flight of steps, falling over themselves.

Sweat pouring down their faces. Breath hot on their lips. Air rushing through their hair. Hands pumping by their sides. Legs feeling wobbly and leaden. Running like hell. They were bolting like there were demons, which can shoot blazing fireballs from their mouths, who reside in hell, on their heels. They'd reached the end of the corridor and came to a single door.

Draco tugged at the handle, but found it was locked. Harry fumbled for his wand and whispered through laboured breathing, "_Alohomora."_

The lock clicked open and Draco dragged the door forward before slamming it shut behind them. Panting like hell, they tried regaining their breath. As their breathing began to normalise a new sound became apparent in the room. Something was growling. It was then they discovered _why _this particular floor was forbidden.

The _why _had three heads, stood at least two men high and looked extremely hungry for some juicy, tenderised, magic flesh. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs. It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

And then Cautela appeared, almost out of nowhere, a few melodic notes thrumming from his throat. Harry couldn't tell what he was, but whatever he was he was calming the monstrous dog down. The dog with three heads. Which Cautela was talking to. Things fell in place in Harry's mind and a large grin grew on his face. His heart slowed and he took a deep breath. Everything was under control. He could handle this. A dark thought cackled in the back of his mind, but Harry ignored it. He'd think about what it meant later.

"You know, I'd be probably less inclined to die of a heart attack if I knew why you were smiling like that, Potter," Draco remarked and Harry remembered that he wasn't alone.

He was about to tell Draco what the animal was, when he realised he'd promised not to tell anyone what Snape had said. Harry swore under his breath, but an idea sparked in his mind. He cleared his throat and began, "Draco. Why is Cautela talking to an unknown beast?"

The pale boy's face crumpled up into anger, "How in the bleedin' hell am I meant to know, Potter?"

"Well, I can't _tell _you. However, Cautela is not usually so nice to things which he doesn't find similar."

The understanding dawned in Draco's eyes, "_This _is an adult _hunt figura_? But it's so... big. And... well – who's is it?"

The need to tell Draco the truth was quickly reined in by the promise he's given Snape. Harry growled in frustration, "Can't say. However, nice deductions. I can't believe this is what they're keeping up here. For Merlin's sakes, why?"

Harry bit his bottom lip in thought. The _hunt figura _continued to sing it's beautiful song. Even Draco was taken by it, but he shook the warm feeling off.

"Is that a trapdoor?" Draco asked, pointing to the floor underneath the large and rather terrifying paws of the monster.

"It's guarding something," Harry mused.

"Guarding what?" asked Draco, gathering his courage – which had fled him since they had first made acquaintances with the monster.

Cautela trilled at Harry and fluttered over to sit on his shoulder. The three-headed beast was blinking wearily and as Harry watched it yawned, then promptly fell asleep, collapsing directly onto the trapdoor. Harry let out a disappointed sigh and scratched Cautela under the chin.

"We're hardly going to find out tonight, now."

"Well, we'll sleep on it then," Draco advised, yawning now too.

Harry blinked tiredly and suddenly realised just how exhausted he felt, "That's a brilliant idea, Malfoy. And thank you for your help, Cautela. We'd be dead meat otherwise. Literally."

The _hunt figura _squeaked and Harry could've sworn that he smiled at them. But Harry shook off the feeling as a symptom of not-sleeping enough and strode out of the room. They returned to the Slytherin dorm and promptly crumpled into their respective beds. As their heads hit their pillows they were already asleep.

Tomorrow more researching would ensue. And maybe... they'd talk to Hagrid about the monster on the third floor.

The small thought popped back into Harry's head during his dreams, _What am I becoming that, when comfronted with a three-headed monster, I can face it with a calm heart? Maybe... maybe I _am _the Next Dark Lord? _However, this didn't arrive in his dreams as that particular sentence. Harry dreamt about a shroud of darkness taking him over and then everything just disappearing - apart from Draco, who was sitting next to him, nodding eagerly. Snape's face loomed towards him with a smirk and Harry found himself laughing, darkly.

It was a dream Harry didn't forget. And he didn't fear. The feeling it enticed in him made him panic more than everything. Because... after waking from that dream he felt... excited.

...

_(Sorry, guys. One of my shorter chapters. And I've forgotten whose commented. So here's a shout out for everyone. THANKS FOR READING THIS! )_


End file.
